Both Sides of the Fence
by Scampercat101
Summary: He had no clue how he got here. All he knew was one minute, he fell asleep with a headache, the next, he woke up on planet Earth, on a couch in a human home... and on a horse ranch. Destiny sure has a bizarre sense of humor... And why, out of everyone, did the once-mistreated horse pick him to trust? (Rated T just to be safe- may end up having some curses later on)
1. Chapter 1: The Call

Chapter One: The Call

It was a rather hot, windy day in Thornbranch, Nevada, a common sight for the small town. Umbrellas and easy-ups speckled the open plains and fields surrounding it, along with the foot-worn sidewalks that acted as its lifelines. Vehicles passing on the road had their wipers going full-speed, working air conditioning to its limit in an effort to beat the heat. Other than that, though, it seemed like a _perfectly_ normal, standard-for-Thornbranch summer day.

That would quickly change.

An eerie, whining whistle split the air, high and haunting, unrelenting. It seemed to intensify with each passing second, and as it continued, a thin beam of pale energy connected heaven and ground, smack-dab in the middle of a meadow where a man had been keeping his horses. Said equines reared and bucked in fear at the enormous, unfamiliar intruder, their bugling neighs and shrill whinnies echoing clear to their owner's front porch as the beam and noise, at long last, retreated.

The man, by the name of Dale Bowreed, had already been running to the meadow to check on his beloved charges when the odd noise began, and at their frenzied cries he hurried even more, concern growing by the minute. At last he reached the meadow, and while a head count and quick once-over proved the herd to be safe and sound, something was _quite_ out of place in the meadow's center.

Where there had once been fertile, green tall grass, there was now a razed circle several yards wide. Burnt into the ground was a bizarre, alien symbol, one that seemed ancient and powerful, despite his personal disbelief in the supernatural. It was what lay on the _center _of the symbol that caught his attention, however, and he dearly hoped to God that _its_ attention hadn't been caught by _him_.

••••••••

"Taylor!"

The raven-haired girl straightened her back and angled her baseball cap to better see the silhouette of her father, who had called to her from on the porch. "What is it?"

"Phone call from up the road, a 'Mr. Bowreed'. Says he's found something that matches what you've mentioned on your flyers!"

"Be there in a sec!" she replied, pulling off her sweat-soaked gloves and tossing them onto the bench to her right, having just finished scrubbing out a feeding trough that was to be put in storage. She walked briskly into the house and put the phone to her ear, letting the distraught man on the other end tell her everything he'd seen, on top of giving his address so she could see what remained for herself. Phone tucked between shoulder and head, she gave a reassurance of "I'll be there as quickly as I can, Mr. Bowreed. Keep your horses safe, too." and hung up, scribbling out a note on a flashcard and pinning it to the map on the corkboard before her. _All of these weather and crop anomalies are going to fit together to show the big picture soon… I just __**know**__ it._

••••••••

As they drove to Mr. Bowreed's ranch, Taylor's father, Austin Thistle, looked over to her in inquiry. "What, exactly, are you hoping to find there again?"

"Bowreed says that an actual alien appeared out of the blue in the middle of the meadow where he keeps his horses. Apparently, while that odd noise was making itself plain earlier, a beam of light came out of the sky and struck the meadow's center, vanishing when the noise ended. When he went to check if his horses were okay, there was a huge circle of ground where the grasses were shortened to their roots. On that patch of ground, a bizarre symbol was burnt over the soil, and laying in the symbol's center was the alien he called me about. What's bizarre is that all the recent weather- and crop-based anomalies around here have occurred exactly one mile from a point in his meadow, forming a circle around it. I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that the alien's appearance is strongly connected to the anomalies, and, with any luck, it'll still be there when we arrive."

"And what are you planning to do once we get there, exactly? How do we know this alien won't go berserk on us and attack… if it even _is_ an alien?"

"Dad, I've dealt with grumpy people complaining about the fact that I want to go onto their property and collect data, and some of them didn't speak a hint of English. I'm sure I can calm down an alien whether it speaks English or doesn't. And even if it _does_…" she reached between the front seats to pat the small bag of things she'd put on the backseat, "… I'm prepared. Why _else_ did you think I picked up those horse tranquilizers from the vet's office?"

Her father sighed in resignation. "All right… but _be careful_."

Upon entering the ranch, they were greeted by a large sign directing them to the different parts of the property. They turned and headed up the small road leading to the upper meadow, pulling to a stop outside its gate. Slipping inside, they walked over to where Mr. Bowreed stood, gazing down at the site of the newest anomaly. Upon his nodding to signal they could continue forward, they did so… and the alien was there, laying in the middle of the newly-formed circle.

"I'm glad you're here," Mr. Bowreed had said to them. "The cops didn't believe me one bit when I reported this and described it… laughed at me over the phone."

To be honest, Taylor could understand this. Although the alien was currently laying flat on its back, Taylor could tell it would have been seven feet tall, were it standing straight and proud. Metal armor was attached to parts of its body and mingled with its flesh, along with cabling that seemed necessary for channeling energy through its body. Its color scheme consisted primarily of white. silver, and shimmering sky-blue, with accents of black and vivid yellow-green here and there. Its head was hairless, and of an extremely peculiar, difficult-to-describe shape.

Kneeling by its side, she saw that it had a yellow-green crystal in the center of its chest that glowed from within. The light was pulsing, like the light on a Macintosh computer in sleep-mode. Its chest rose and fell steadily, and, holding her hand above its slightly open mouth, she found its breath to be quite chilly. Putting two fingers to the vein in its neck, she found a pulse that seemed odd, but was most likely normal for the alien's kind. She brushed herself off, then, grabbing one of its arms and slinging it over her shoulders, hoisted its weight upwards as best she could. Her father, realizing her intent, walked over and did likewise with the other arm. Together, they carried it back towards their truck, ready to head home.

••••••••

As they reached their own humble ranch, they were greeted with an unwelcome but common sight: the doors of the second barn were wide open, and a rather large horse-blanket was caught on the handle, trailing over the ground by a good deal as the wind moved the door back and forth ever so slightly.

"Snowplow must have gotten out again…" her father muttered, unsurprised.

"Want me to take this guy inside while you track our escapee down?" Taylor asked.

"If it's no bother to you…"

"It isn't." she assured him.

Pulling up in front of their house, he handed her the door-key, and, hoisting their interstellar guest over the gap between the seats, she closed the truck door behind her and began making the short trek to their porch.

Inside, she lay the stranger down on the couch, putting a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. _A real alien… How similar can he possibly be to us_?

Unable to resist taking some notes, she grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and began writing and sketching. _His face is odd, but despite it obviously being metal-based, it seems so much like normal flesh… how is that possible? _She gently pried his mouth open and looked inside. _His tongue's green, strangely enough. Is there mythril mixed in with its flesh? His gums are grey, as well as the rest of the flesh in his mouth… weird. His teeth are white, like ours… but they feel solid enough to be metal. Other than that, his teeth match those of a perfectly healthy adult human; canines, bicuspids, anything we've got, he's got. Wait… is it really a he? It looks like one… I'll just assume it is…. __**he **__is. _

She looked up as her dad walked in. "Did you find Snowplow?"

"Yeah, he was just hangin' around the old pond like he always does. Looked like he was trying to race his shadow. All he wants is to race, really, but there's nobody he's willing to let ride him, so he can't. I don't think anyone **could** ride him. He's just so darned big…"

"Poor guy… he's so reluctant to trust humans after what his old trainer did to him when he refused to behave the way he was told… If only **we** could've found him sooner!"

"I know… but we can only do what we can do now, and hope for the best."

••••••••

_He was dreaming, that much was certain. There was no other way this could be happening… but __**this**__ dream felt important. It was a vision…_

_ He saw the shape charging towards him, the shrill, bugling cry echoing in the air. The hooves pounded like thunder against the ground, the muscles surging under the pale hide, white blazing in the eyes… and then it stopped. Without thinking, he had raised his hand, and the shape had stopped. It lowered its velvety nose to touch his hand. Perfectly calm… perfectly still. _

_ The shape bowed its neck forward, and, grasping the mane that trailed down its spine, he leapt onto its back. It allowed a soft rope to wind around its head in a bridle, and part of it trailed around to rest in his hands. Leaning forward, he pressed his knees slightly to its sides… and they were away, thinking and acting as one… __**running **__as one…. running…running…_


	2. Chapter 2: Friendly Faces

Chapter Two: Friendly Faces

Looking over at their alien guest as she headed downstairs for breakfast, Taylor was surprised to see that he had actually kicked the blanket off of himself and onto the floor. She walked over and put it back over him, only for it to promptly be kicked right back off. Sighing, she shook her head with a grin and, giving up, folded up the blanket and put it aside. If the alien felt too warm, then he felt too warm. No reason to force him to keep using the blanket.

She began making herself some oatmeal, then let it cool enough to eat as she checked the day's schedule. First, the daily mucking-out, then weighing Sandy's new foal and giving it a full checkup… then checking the fences, the barns, and the sheds for any need of repair. Then would come the most difficult part… Snowplow needed a full grooming, as well as new horseshoes, and then… then they would do their best to bridle-train him, then groom him again once they'd spent enough time with the training.

Her dad chose that moment to wake up and walk downstairs. "Think you're ready for today, with Snowplow's training and grooming?"

"As ready as I'll ever be…"

At that moment, their guest decided to wake.

••••••••

Matoro looked around, confused. Where was he? Last he remembered, he had been at a party in Le-Metru, and a Ko-Matoran had delivered him the painkilling draught he'd asked for, to ease his pain after long nights of working in the drifts. He'd taken some that night after getting home, since Ehrye had tripped him and made him hit his head… and now he woke up and found himself here. He was in a multicolored, well-furnished dwelling, with no clue why or where. At last, his internal locator started up, and, according to it, he was… on planet Earth? But how could that be? How had he wound up on a planet on the complete opposite side of the galaxy from Spherus Magna?

A pair of humans entered his line of sight. "You alright? You sure were out for a while," the older male said to him, looking a bit wary. His accent indicated he was most likely in the south-western part of the continent of North America.

"I think so… where am I?"

"Thornbranch, Nevada, on the Thistle Horse Ranch. I'm Austin Thistle, and this is my daughter, Taylor. We found you on a neighbor's ranch and brought you here. You hungry?"

"A little… I don't want to be of any inconvenience, though."

"Don't worry about it! It's the least we can do to help ya. Go ahead and raid the pantry and fridge, there's plenty to eat. If you need us, we'll be outside, gathering what we need to start the day's work."

Carefully, he got up, amazed at how welcoming these humans were to a stranger - and an _alien_ stranger, at that! He saw, in their "fridge", that they had plenty of fruit, so he chose a bright red one with bits of yellow and headed over to watch from the doorway as he ate.

Leaning on the doorframe, he noticed that, whatever their work entailed, it must be heavy-duty. They were putting on thick leather gloves and gathering a variety of large tools, such as rakes and shovels and pitchforks. Having finished the rather tasty fruit, he tossed the core into the trashcan in their kitchen and asked, "Anything I can do to help?"

"You don't need to help us - I thought you were going to try and find out how to get home."

"Well, I know for a fact that my planet's on the opposite side of the galaxy, and right now, I'm drawing nothing but blanks on how to get back. If I'm going to be here a while, I might as well do what I can to help!" he insisted.

"Well, if you say so!" Austin relented. "Right now we're going to just do some basic checks on what might need repairing on the ranch, then we're going to work on mucking out the stables and a few more… difficult things."

"Count me in, then."

••••••••

"Looks like Whitney and Ross have given everything the a-ok." Taylor announced, checking two sheets of paper attached to the bulletin board by the entrance to their ranch.

"Who are Whitney and Ross?"

"They're a couple of teens we hired who come up here early every day and check to see if any structures need repairing. If there are, they let us know and mark them on a copy of the map." Austin explained.

"You mentioned 'mucking out' stables. What does that mean?"

"When you 'muck out' a stable, you clean it, get rid of old straw, put in new, put in clean water and fresh feed, and give the horse a treat or two."

"Sounds pretty simple." Matoro commented.

"For most, it is, but we'll go into detail later. Right now, we're going to start with barn one. I'll let you try mucking out old Ironsides' stall, and then Maple's. They're gentle, and difficult to spook or scare."

As the wooden door to Ironsides' stall slid open before him, Matoro got his first good look at the creatures he'd be working with for some time to come. Ironsides was a lanky yet well-muscled stallion, and his coat was a rusty red. His mane and tail were black with streaks of white, and he seemed quite elderly and wise. Curiously, the horse leaned towards the stranger before him, sniffing at Matoro's face and chest - for which, a few chuckles were earned - then snorted, as if saying he found no reason to be afraid. He seemed to notice the tools waiting to be used, and stood aside, letting Matoro start to muck out the stall.

For an alien from another planet, Matoro did quite well at mucking out the stall. And when he continued with the stall next door, the one belonging to Maple, he did just as well as before, finding himself having to stifle his laughter as the Appaloosa mare started sniffing the back of his neck. It tickled quite a bit! Before long, Taylor and Austin had also finished the rest of the stalls in the first barn, and they began heading for the second.

"Now, I want you to be careful going into this barn. There's a newborn foal in here, and I don't want you to spook it or its mother." Austin warned.

Matoro nodded. Quietly, they headed inside.

As Matoro stood in the center aisle, waiting as each stall was mucked out, velvety muzzles and curious eyes peered out of stall gates, the horses eyeing the newcomer to their home. However, towards the end of the mucking-out, there was one particular muzzle poking through its gate that caught his eye… a muzzle smaller than the rest.

Carefully, he walked to the corner stall, peering in at the tiny soul that showed so much curiosity. The tiny, dun-colored, black-specked foal offered up a quiet whinny as he gazed down at it, its mother coming over for a look and sniff as well. Cautiously, he reached out a finger and held it within sniffing distance of both. Tiny puffs of air tickled his hand as he held it there, and it finally seemed that the mother deemed him trustworthy. A soft nicker escaped her, and she nuzzled his hand.

"Wow… looks like you really have a way with them." Taylor noted from behind him.

"At one point, I ran a pet shop of sorts back home…" he admitted. "On the side, I would rescue any critters in need, be they lost calves from a Kane-Ra Bull herd, or a fully grown Muaka tiger with a broken leg… I never found the ability to turn away a creature in need…"

"In that case, would you mind helping us give these two a check-up?" Austin enquired. "Lil' Speck here is pretty hard to keep still."

He nodded as they walked into the larger-than-normal stall, watching as the days-old filly cantered wobbly circles around their legs. The tiny creature was even so brave as to walk up to Matoro and gum a few of his fingers, earning a chuckle from the alien warrior. Seeing that the two humans with him had finished changing out the straw, food, and water in the stall, he stepped backwards towards the scale that they were setting up, guiding the filly to it. With just the slightest bit more coaxing, she was on it, her focus on sniffing her new friend's head being enough to keep her standing still. By the time she grew bored and looked for more mischief, her checkup was already done!

"I daresay that that was the easiest time we've had of keeping her still!" Austin exclaimed, amazed.

"And now comes the 'fun' part… working with Snowplow…"

"Snowplow?" Matoro asked. "Who's Snowplow?"

Before either human could reply, a loud, deep neigh was heard, followed by a _wham_. Both Sandy and Speck turned their heads and pricked their ears forward at the sound, and personally, Matoro couldn't blame them. It had been _loud_ indeed.

"_That_ would be Snowplow." Taylor chuckled.


	3. Chapter 3: Snowplow

**AN: Big thanks to G'reth the Air Dragon for leaving a hearty helping of constructive criticism, to which I am currently responding by making edits on three of the things you mentioned, along with explaining one other.**

**As I've edited the previous chapter to show, I've had this occur after some point where Matoro gets brought back to life, on Spherus Magna, which isn't in the huge robotic body. Hope that clears things up.**

Chapter Three: Snowplow

Snowplow's stall was at the very end of the L-shaped barn, and was larger than even the foaling stall they had been in previously. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if they could've parked one of the trailers he'd seen being pulled behind "semi" or "big rig" trucks quite comfortably inside. And the interior did nothing to dispel the feeling of immense size, either. He got the impression that the stall may have actually once been a storage room for saddles and equipment, but was repurposed. The hayloft could be easily seen through the rafters above them, and he almost thought that he heard the twittering of a mother barn owl hiding in the hay. Watching the group warily from the opposite side of the stall, in the corner, was an immense stallion… and it was as he looked at the stall's occupant that its size finally made sense.

The horse, were its head aloft and no worries clouding its thoughts, would have stood eight feet tall - a full foot taller than Matoro himself. He was a pale silvery-white, like the sky on an overcast day, with cream-colored mane and tail and deep blue eyes. His muzzle and ears faded to deeper grey, and a single one of his hooves could have easily covered a fair-sized dinner plate. Muscles twitched and surged under his flesh, and Matoro could tell raw power lurked in every fiber of his body. His gaze was focused distrustfully on the two humans to the Toa's right.

"How is he so big?" Matoro quietly wondered.

"His previous owners bred their two strongest draft horses to get him, but they were too closely related, and he got a gigantism allele from both. Not only that, but he simply refused to be trained for draft-horse work, and they punished him unjustly for it." Taylor explained in whispers. "Now he's extremely distrustful of just about all humans, and even _we_ can't be around him too long before he gets nervous and skittish. He tends to try to break out of the barn and run free, but never goes far. Now all he wants to do is race… but there's nobody he can trust to ride him."

Matoro, at once, felt sympathy for the horse before him. He could never stand seeing Rahi being overly punished… especially when their misbehavior was a mistake, or borne of discomfort with the situation.

Austin stepped forward, quietly muttering reassurances to the horse before him, but was quickly forced to back up as Snowplow laid his ears back and lowered his head, showing no trust for the human at the moment.

"This isn't good…" Austin muttered, ignoring the angry snort from Snowplow at the resumed talking. "We need to muck his stall out still, and we need to groom him and put on new horseshoes, too… I'm not going to even _try_ bridle-training… but how are we gonna do any of that if he won't allow us within a foot of him?"

At that moment, Matoro held still, seeing that Snowplow's gaze had swung towards him. Abruptly, the whites of the stallion's eyes shrank back out of sight, and he actually took a step forward, ears pricking up to pick up the sounds this stranger made. He remained calm as the horse raised his nose to be right in front of his mask - how had he gotten so close so quickly? - and exhaled, curious about the off-worlder. Matoro, familiar with the fact that wild creatures identified by scent, exhaled right back.

The effect was immediate. In an instant, the stallion raised his head and stepped closer… then put his head over the newcomer's shoulder in the horse version of a hug, able to tell from his scent that he meant no harm. A soft nicker escaped him, and he relaxed as Matoro ran his fingers gently through his mane. Austin and Taylor simply watched, wide-eyed, as the horse that they were lucky to be trusted in the slightest by acted completely calm towards an absolute stranger.

Abruptly, Matoro's expression changed to one of concern, and his left hand rose to press lightly against Snowplow's lower jaw from the outside. It seemed that something was wrong in the spot. He glanced back towards the other two. "Has he ever shown any jaw problems?" he asked quietly, not wishing to spook his newly-made friend.

"Not that we've noticed…" Austin murmured. "Why do you ask?"

"The corners of his mouth seem extremely tense and sensitive. You mentioned he used to be treated poorly… I think that his old trainer put the bit far too tight, and damaged the hinges of his jaws due to the amount of pressure put on them."

"That would explain why we've been having so much trouble training him with a bridle…" Taylor realized in a hushed voice. "We always assumed he had at least been willing to _accept_ a bridle, and used a metal bit on the one we'd try to train him with. It never occurred to us that he might have had a mouth trauma…"

"Is there any sort of… _softer _ bit you can use on his bridle?"

Austin nodded. "We could always use rope to make a special bridle for him, bit and all. We'd need to make the bit of it thinner than the rest, though, and I'm not sure how thick a rope bit he'd be able to take without it breaking too easily."

"I'm not sure even _rope_ would work - not normal, run-of-the-mill rope, anyway." Matoro said.

"What about wickie? It's rope made of the thin fibers of a tough, long briar root, and it's not only pretty strong, but plenty soft. I made several yards of it not too long ago - probably still have them in storage. I can go get it, if you want to see what he thinks of it." Austin offered.

Matoro nodded. It was a rather sound plan.

Within a few minutes, the male human was back, every piece of wickie rope he could find held in his hands, all of varying thickness. "These should do to help make him a bridle. A fairly simple design should work - we don't use him as a draft horse. He hates all draft work. If he ever _does_ trust anyone enough to be ridden by them, a simple three-piece design should suffice to let them get their message across to him." He pulled out two fair-sized loops of metal from his pocket and placed them on a nearby crate. "We'll need these if we want to keep the design otherwise simple."

"Which piece should we measure first?"

"The chin strap. Here, take this measuring tape -" he handed it over to the alien, "- and measure from one corner of his mouth, under his muzzle, and to the other. Just show the number to me - don't want to make him any more antsy with extra chatter." He nodded as the instructions were followed, then chose a thickness of wickie and cut it based on the measurement, tying each end to one of the metal loops. "Good… now start at the corner of his mouth towards us, go around the back of his head - just below his ears - and to the opposite corner of his mouth, but continue at an angle _over_ his muzzle, and stop at the place you started." He was shown the second number, and again cut a length of wickie, putting it through both of the metal loops and tying its ends together. One last length of wickie, the smallest of the three, but the softest, was cut and tied to both rings, and the bridle was complete. "Here… see what he makes of it." he said, handing Matoro the piece of equipment.

Matoro took it and held it, reassuringly, in Snowplow's range of vision. He rubbed part of it against the area between the stallion's nostrils, letting him know that this was soft and simple, nothing like the complex metal-bitted bridles of his old home. Gently, ready to stop entirely if there were any signs of panic, he held it between them and slid it at a sloth's pace over the end of his muzzle, pausing to make sure his intent was understood and unopposed. As the wickie bit neared his mouth, the humans watched, astonished but not wanting to interrupt, as Snowplow cautiously but willingly opened his mouth and accepted it, giving it a testing chew to see if it hurt him. After what seemed like an eternity, the backband was, at last, in place, and the bridle was entirely on.

Taylor shakily let out the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding, a hand over her heart. "I can't believe it… he actually let you put the bridle on him!" she whispered. "He never even lets _us_ put a hand near his head without holding his ears back. How…?" She left her question unfinished in favor of gaping at the horse-whisperer Toa.

Matoro looked over at them, Snowplow now having resumed "hugging" him. "You said you needed to groom him and put on new horseshoes?"

Austin nodded. "With your help, it might actually be possible… tie an end of this to one of the loops in his bridle. I'll open the doors so we can lead him over to the outdoor grooming area, then I'll muck out his stall while you two get him clean. I'll explain how to change out his horseshoes when I finish."

"Sounds good to me." he replied, tying the wickie rope to the ring as he'd been told. Adjusting his hold on the newly-assigned lead rope, he clicked his tongue and began stepping forward. He was slightly surprised that Snowplow actually responded, expecting that, if he _had_ learned basic commands such as when to let himself be led somewhere, it would have been from the old trainers that treated him poorly, thus leading to a negative reaction to such commands. Against all the odds, Snowplow obediently walked alongside him through the open doorway and after Taylor.

However, it was as they had just walked out the door that Snowplow did something odd. Having been given enough slack on his lead rope to do so, he swung his head around, grabbed an old riding helmet off of a hook on the outer wall with his teeth, then turned back to Matoro… and plonked it on top of his head.

"Wha-?" He felt the top of his head, recognizing the texture of padded leather. Getting a better feel of the object and finally realizing what it was, he looked over at Snowplow in confusion, wondering why the horse did what he did. The source of his confusion, for all the world, seemed oblivious to it.

Taylor looked back toward them in surprise. "I almost _forgot_ that old helmet was there… it's been so long since I found it as a kid. When Dad and I first bought this place, the barn we call the "second" barn was the only one there was. Snowplow's stall was simply an old, dusty storeroom at the time, too, and in it, we found that old helmet and a bunch of other riding uniform pieces. I'd gone in before my dad, and found the helmet first, but realized quickly that it was _way_ too big, for both me _and_ my dad, so I just hung it on the outer wall and never got around to taking it down. I think the other bits of clothing we found are somewhere in our attic." She stepped up onto a large, flat cement platform. "Have Snowplow stand here, I'll tie a quick-release knot so he won't walk away on us."

Matoro nodded, and carefully making the lead-rope taut, brought the horse to a halt. He looked at the array of tools laid out in a neat row on the short wall next to them. "This looks pretty complex."

"If we take it step by step, it'll be easy. Now… I doubt he'll trust me to groom him right now, so it seems you're going to have to learn it all. We start by cleaning the hooves - don't want to leave any stones in there to bother him."

"I remember cleaning out a grass-bolter's hooves a few times back home. Should be pretty similar, right? Avoid the fleshy part at the back, working your way forward, keep a close eye out for any signs of the leg or foot being lame."

"Yeah, that's basically it. See how well you can do."

He nodded, then, gently, ran his hand down one of Snowplow's front legs and squeezed the fetlock, happy to see that the horse was still being agreeable as he raised his hoof in response. Holding the fuzzy foreleg against the side of his own leg, he bent over, and, with the hoof pick, began evicting the many clods of dirt that had settled on the underside. He'd quickly finished the first hoof, and moved on to the second with the same ease as before.

Out of the blue, Snowplow's tail swished around to the side Matoro was on, gently _whap_ping against his face and making him splutter in surprise. When he could actually see again, he looked over his shoulder questioningly at the horse and noticing an impish gleam in Snowplow's visible eye. Not too heavily bothered by the mischievous act, he simply chuckled and turned back to his work. He ducked as the tail made a second pass at him, shaking his head. "It's going to take more than _that_ to get _me_, pal." he quietly said.

Now the front hooves were done, and he moved on to the first of the back hooves. At this rate, he'd be done pretty quickly…

_Whap._

He looked up again, immediately aware of just what had happened. Snowplow looked quite proud of managing to catch Matoro off his guard again, and the icy Toa simply sighed and shook his head a second time, simply chuckling each time the tail met the back of his head as he finished cleaning the rear hooves.

At last, he straightened his back. "All right… what's next?"

"Now you take the curry-comb and get all the dirt, flotsam, and loose hair out of his coat - but stay away from his face, spine and legs." Taylor explained.

He picked up a small, black, brush-like tool, fitting three of his fingers through the handle-strap. Going opposite the direction of hair growth, he moved it through Snowplow's coat, watching as the loose dirt and hair formed thin, bumpy rows. "And now?"

"Now use the hard brush to get that stuff off of him for good, following his hairs, but stay away from the belly. You can go down his legs, too, but be gentle."

_Whisk, whisk, whisk, whisk….._

"Now?"

"Use the soft brush to finish his coat up - _now_ you can cover the face and belly."

_Sh, sh, sh, sh…_

"That look all right?"

"So far. Take the wide comb and comb out his mane and tail. Careful on the knots."

_Whisk, whisk, whisk, whisk, whisk…_

"Aha. Dad's coming over with the stuff for changing his horseshoes. While we wait for him to get here, dampen that washcloth that's last in line and gently clean off Snowplow's face."

He did so, the sound of the running water drawing the horse's attention. Already, his coat was looking much more shiny and pale.

Austin had, at last, gotten over to them. "All right… you're _sure_ you're ready to learn how to change these out?"

Matoro nodded. "I'm sure."

By the time they had finished, it was noon.

"So… what now?" Matoro asked.


	4. Chapter 4: Nobody Else

**Edit: Just realized that I made a mistake here. In the second chapter, I had Ironsides and Maple in the first barn and Sandy, Speck, and Snowplow in the second, but here I accidentally had **_**all**_** of them in the second for the storm scene. Whoops. Fixed it now.**

Chapter Four: Nobody Else

"Well… we were hoping to work on bridle-training him, but he seems overly worked up already. I'm not so sure it's wise any more." Austin said. "Wait a minute… I never _did_ catch your name…"

"The name's Matoro. How far have you actually _gotten_ with his training?"

"Only to the point of letting himself be lead around, halted, hitched to things… but the few times we _did_ hitch him to something, he just laid his ears back and refused to pull in the slightest."

"Ah, I see…"

At that moment, Snowplow tugged his lead rope, swiftly and fully, out of the Toa's hands. Before the trio around him could stop him, though, he swung his head so the loose end was in reach of his mouth, with which he caught it, holding it in a loop. He tossed his head once more, making the loop rest against his upper back… then side-nudged Matoro again, making him move slightly towards the large, folded horse blanket laying over the short wall.

"… I think he wants his blanket to be put on his back again… but I haven't got a clue why he's holding the wickie in his teeth like that." Taylor uttered, confused.

Matoro cast one last befuddled look at the horse, but did as indicated and spread the large sky-blue blanket over Snowplow's withers and back, fastening it at the chest and under the belly.

Here, the stallion's actions became even _more _odd. Lowering his head, he brought his left front leg forward, brushing the knee against the ring where his lead-rope was fastened. Then, his other front leg came forward to repeat the action on the opposite side. He brought his head upwards again, turning to look at Matoro.

_He wants me to tie the other end to the other ring… but why?_

Despite his personal confusion, the Toa did what Snowplow was obviously asking, then began stepping back into place… only for Snowplow to nudge the main part of the former lead-rope against his hands.

"No, it can't be… but nothing else quite makes sense…" Austin muttered, caught up in his thoughts over this bizarre behavior. "… I think he wants _you_ to get on his back…"

"Me…? But… why?"

"Well… ever since his first moment here, he's shown nothing but distrust toward any human that comes near him. But it was _only_ towards humans that this happened. The few times we put him out in our big meadow with other horses, he'd always act perfectly sociable to them, if a little unsure of _how_ to socialize. One time, a family of deer managed to get within the fence. When the horses came in, we saw the doe and buck leap back out and away, towards the trees, but the fawn got stuck between the fence-beams. I would've gone over to help it free, but there was no need. Snowplow slowly walked up behind it, nudged both it and the beams it was caught between, and got it loose enough to dash home. Then he just shook his mane out and went back to the rest of the horses as if nothing had happened. He's even let the female barn owl that lives above him in the loft perch on his back sometimes at night. The only well-meaning creatures under the sun he's ever refused to trust are humans, and I'm pretty sure that, since you most certainly _aren't_ human but have all the goodness and none of the potential ill will that we humans do, he feels like you're the only one he can trust to act like a dog at the head of the team instead of the incompetent musher who abuses whip and weight." Austin patted his shoulder-armor. "Now, come on. Let's find some rolling steps so you can get up there."

"Already got 'em, Dad." said Taylor, rolling the knee-height, somewhat dusty wooden structure over to Snowplow's side. "Be careful getting up there. Wouldn't want your armor to pinch him too much."

Matoro nodded, stepping up onto the mounting block. Holding onto the newly-made reins with his left hand, he vaulted his right leg over Snowplow's back, using his right arm for extra pull. At last, he was balanced and settled, and he looked over at the two observing humans, wondering what to do next.

Austin sighed. "The thing is, we never actually taught him any rein commands, and since he was originally trained to be a draft-horse, I doubt he was taught by anyone else, either."

"Well, we'll never know if we don't try, will we?"

He leaned forward somewhat, pressing his feet lightly against the stallion's sides and leaving his grip on the reins somewhat relaxed. That coupled with a click of his tongue immediately was pieced together in Snowplow's mind. The clicking, like with the lead rope, meant he needed to start moving. The odd metal biped on his back was leaning forward, so forward was the way the movement should take him. He wasn't leaning _too_ far forward, though - a medium pace seemed to be what was wanted. With that last thought, he started into a trot.

"Where should I have him go?" the Toa asked over his shoulder.

"Have him go along that small road in front of you, to the short pole, then turn him and come back. Give that path a few rounds, test what speeds he'll let you request."

He nodded, staying steady despite the repeated motions of Snowplow's gait. Once they reached the post and had it to their left, he gently applied pressure with his left leg, paid out the left side of the reins, and rested the right side against Snowplow's neck, leaning to show what the commands meant. In less than a second, they were turning together, the back of his hand just barely missing the top of the pole. Then he eased up on the pressure of his leg, evened out the reins once more, and they were perfectly upright again, trotting back towards the cement-floored grooming area. They began turning their path into an elongated figure 8, and as the small awning that was part of the structure loomed to their right, he applied the same signals as before, but switched the sides, leaning to the right as Snowplow turned in the new direction, learning quickly.

They were on the straightaway to reach the pole again, and he applied gentle pressure to both sides with his feet, the stallion's pace being increased to a canter. Their surroundings to either side seemed to become meaningless blurs, the only things in focus being each other, the dirt road beneath them, and the pole ahead. They turned left again, more cleanly and in sync, no more than a second lapsing between when Matoro started leaning and when Snowplow leaned into the turn in response. Another straightaway, then the right turn.

The pole stood ahead of them once more, and pressure increased the pace to a gallop. In just a few pulses of his heartlight, the straightaway had ceased to exist and Matoro was leaning, Snowplow as well, into the turn, as _one_. The dust and pebbles of the road were flushed from their rest on the ground like startled songbirds out of low bushes, leaping like fleas and forming ghostly apparitions of windswept brown and tan. The leaves and branches of the bushes and shrubs edging the well-worn journey-way spun and danced, like the confetti and cheering, joyful crowds to be found at a stadium during a victory. As they once more skirted the grooming area, a flash of brightly colored plastic caught the corner of his vision, and he grinned as he heard the familiar, challenging _click-click_ of a stopwatch. Snowplow, he sensed, heard it too, and whether he had unintentionally tensed his legs or the horse had some knack for knowing his thoughts, he would never know, but now every muscle in the stallion was like an iron spring, growing coiled and tense, only to push outwards with amazing force and speed, then coil in upon itself yet again. He blinked, and they were turning left with the pole looming beside them, then it, too, vanished entirely from their vision. Color and noise rushed past in brilliant, chaotic whirls, and the pavilion was spinning beside them before zooming away, a _click-click_ echoing in their ears.

At last, the world around him focused enough to see Austin and Taylor clapping, apparently quite impressed. Tightening his grip on the reins and gently 'woah'ing to calm Snowplow down, he grinned, the horse-and-rider duo coming to a halt back on the rectangle of cement where the humans stood.

"So, how did I do?"

Austin was speechless, but Taylor had plenty to say. "I don't know what the future might hold for you, or where and when you'll get home, but one thing _is_ certain. Snowplow's decided that he's _your_ horse, and there isn't a creature dead or alive, nor a force of nature or twist of misfortune, that's going to be able to change that from here on out."

The Toa smiled, turning to face the back of _his_ horse's head and giving a pat to the muscular neck. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

••••••••

_Shady figures were crowded in the even shadier room, speaking in hushed tones oozing malice. There was a group of five kneeling around a circular ottoman, a group of five clustered around the table, and a group standing in the corner opposite the door. Leaning against the doorless frame was a lone figure whose silhouette made him terribly uneasy, a male if the shoulders told properly. Other than a candle on the fireplace mantle, the only light came from a minute sliver of a gap between two velvet curtains, where a female figure stood squinting at the outdoors in scrutiny. The entire room, by such little light, was still obviously of high expense, maintenance, and dignity, and he shuddered at the thought of being trapped inside, even if the lights were on._

_ A muffled, unintelligible word came from one, then two, then three of the conferring people, each from a different group. Then the curtains slid shut and the candle puffed out, leaving everything black. All he knew after that was a horrible, terror-stricken neigh echoing…_

_ ••••••••_

He sat bolt upright, the neigh from his dreams still ringing in his ears. Only it wasn't just from his dreams; no, something was wrong, that was _Snowplow_ panicking.

He fell out of the guest bed the humans had so thoughtfully let him use, and ran towards the front room. Sitting by the fireplace and reading was Austin, who looked up at the sound of metal feet on tile. "What is it, pal?"

"Why is Snowplow panicking? What's happening out by the barn?"

"Ah, that. It's nothing to be concerned about yet, just need to be cautious. As you've probably heard -" and here, as if on cue, a rumbling boom echoed around them, "- we're in the middle of a thunderstorm. Snowplow's always been jittery when the weather turns sour like this. Don't worry, though, Whitney and Ross are taking turns at the fire-watch from up in the house on the rise between us and the highway. If lightning hits the barn, we'll know."

Thunder rumbled again, and a familiar neigh rang high and shrill on the wind once more.

"I'm going to go out and try to calm him down. This much stress can't be good for him…" Matoro said, heading towards the door.

"If you insist. I'd suggest grabbing the plastic rain-poncho by the door on your way out, though."

"Poncho" was the last word he stuck around to hear. Just as "door" rung on the air, the real-life door clicked shut.

Upon reaching the barn, he flicked on the lantern hanging just within the doors and lifted it high. Sandy nickered a drowsy greeting from the foaling stall as a few of the other horses raised their heads to look at him. He rounded the corner, and as another rogue bolt of electricity arced across the sky, he saw the form of Snowplow rearing in fright. Immediately, he hurried forward, slipped into the huge stall, and held his hand up towards the stallion's muzzle. "Easy there, bud, it's okay. You're alright!"

Ears swiveled to hear him all the better, and, upon returning to all fours, the horse let out a shaky, distressed nicker and put his head over the Toa's shoulder again, seeking comfort. Matoro felt his equine friend shivering in terror at the noises that washed over the two of them, and he gently ran a hand through Snowplow's mane, hushing him soothingly, reassuringly. One arm began reaching towards a small shelf on the wall - if he remembered correctly, he'd seen a small box of peppermints sitting on it - aha. His armored hand retreated from the cardboard confines as he pulled out three crinkly-wrapped pieces of familiar, comforting, sharp-flavored sugar. The rustling of the plastic drew the horse's gaze to it, and he watched as the clear, shiny cocoon was pulled back to show the swirl of red and white. Leaning forward, he gently pulled it out from between Matoro's forefinger and thumb, crunching into it once the digits that once held it were safe from harm. The second and third made the process repeat, and the Toa was glad to see that the stallion's eyelids were beginning to droop; inevitably, a yawn escaped the both of them, from the quadruped to regain breath, and from the biped out of exhaustion.

At last, Snowplow settled himself down in the straw, beginning to fall asleep. Watching to make sure his friend was finally at ease, Matoro smiled, glad he was able to help, and turned to leave… only to feel a frightened tugging on the edge of the poncho he still had on. He turned, and Snowplow was alert again, head low, holding the poncho with his teeth. He was afraid of being alone.

With a sigh, the Toa relented and sat down in the straw next to him, back to the wall. The thunder was rare now, the repeated drumming of rain against the roof lulling him into a feeling of peace. Snowplow had laid his head in the Toa's lap, and gently he stroked the horse's mane, eyes slowly drifting closed.

••••••••

Austin looked around in confusion as he entered the barn, wondering what the heck was taking Matoro so long to get back. Some of the horses looked like they'd been woken up recently, but were well on their way to falling asleep again, no signs of distress showing from them. Sandy had gotten up to briefly crunch on some oats in her trough, and little Speck was still asleep on her side in the straw, legs pistoning slightly as she raced through her dreams. Not a soul in that barn showed any signs of distress.

He turned the corner to face Snowplow's stall, and saw a gentle, flickering light coming from within. Was Matoro still in the stall for some reason? He walked forward and looked through the open upper door… then chuckled to himself.

Matoro and Snowplow were both asleep, the Toa sitting in the straw with his back to the wall, and the stallion laying next to him, head in his lap. The lantern that usually hung by the barn doorway was on a shelf next to a box of peppermints and a few empty peppermint wrappers, almost extinguished. It seemed Matoro hadn't wanted Snowplow to be frightened any longer, and stayed with him to keep him calm.

He supposed it wouldn't hurt for the Toa to just stay in the barn for the rest of the night. And, to be honest, he didn't have the heart to wake him or Snowplow. He blew out the lantern from his spot by the door, then turned and left with a smile. "Sweet dreams, you two." he said under his breath.


	5. Chapter 5: The Unbroken Trail Ahead

Chapter 5: The Unbroken Trail Ahead

The sun, as it laboriously pulled itself up and onto the horizon, began letting light race over the dusty landscape. Into every nook and cranny the golden beams pried their gaze, racing to reach each and every scattered building.

As the impish light reached the barn where he rested, Matoro began to stir. One of the bright rays had decided to lay right across his eyelids, causing his features to scrunch in subconscious annoyance at the invasion of his rest. He turned to face away from the window, yawning and returnng to the realm of dreams.

However, unlike the Toa and horse in the stall below, the residents of the hayloft above had been awake for quite some time and were, in fact, likely to go to sleep any time now. The mother owl was quietly preening in a corner as her fuzzy youngsters ran amok in the hay, strengthening their talons, legs, and fuzz-covered wings through play-fighting and other such mischief.

One particular owlet had set her sights on a moth that was cornered by their antics. Her head bobbed up, down, left, right, back, and forth as she inspected the tiny winged insect's odd bouncing flight. She wanted to fly, too… Maybe it could teach her. She raised her fluffy wings up in a decent imitation of a child playing "airplane" and leapt forward, trying to take to the air after the moth. In a panic, the bug darted for a more spacious part of the hayloft, only for the owlet to continue running, leaping, and flapping in pursuit. The crazy chase led her onto the top of an old lidded plastic storage bin… And her weight offset it enough to send it falling between the rafters down to the stall below, taking here down with it.

The crash, in an instant, woke both Toa and horse, the latter bringing his head up in surprise so quickly that he clonked the former under the jaw. At once, Snowplow acted extremely apologetic, whinnying worriedly and nosing the side of Matoro's mask, then embarrassedly hiding his face under his arm.

"Woah, easy pal. I'm fine. No worries," the Toa reassured his four-legged friend. Working the last few twinges out of his jaw, he looked to his right, to where a plastic bin that certainly hadn't been there before was sitting in the straw, its lid knocked askew. Just over its rim, he could see a pair of slightly scaly and fuzzy talons kicking at the air in a wild panic. Peering over the edge of the hayloft opening the bin had obviously fallen through were four fuzzy barn owlets, their heads bobbing side to side in curiosity as they watched their undignified sibling flail about. At last, the downed owlet found its feet and stood up, shaking itself out and looking around tensely, feeling vulnerable.

Matoro stood and began carefully walking over, knowing that the owlet wouldn't be able to get back up into the hayloft on its own. It didn't seem too up to fighting him, and simply clung with a vice-like grip to his armored hand, panting and trembling. Using a barrel to gain height, he poked his head through the hayloft opening, watching in amusement as the rest of the fuzzy-faced bunch stepped back a bit but were otherwise unalarmed, continuing to bob their heads about in curiosity. He lifted his hand so that the owlet on it could return to its nest, and it immediately hopped off, tackling one of its siblings and dragging the whole group into a tussle.

The mother barn owl walked over to him just then, and, as if in thanks, began doing her best to preen his hand, getting loose all of the pieces of straw that got themselves caught in the chinks of his armor. Not even an instant later, there was a blur of gold and white at the window, and the owlets were all scrambling and pushing their way to be in the front and get the first bites of the rabbit their father had brought back. Shaking herself out, the mother owl nudged her way through her younglings' quarrel and calmly began helping her mate tear the meal into bite-sized pieces. Matoro took that as his cue to retreat back into the stall below.

Snowplow, when he finally turned around to look at the horse, was sniffing the clothes that had apparently been held in the bin. It seemed that the clothes were in the hayloft for quite a while. Perhaps Austin and Taylor had been using the hayloft as a makeshift attic? Either way, it would probably be best to keep the clothes clean and undamaged, so Matoro began moving to put the bin back in its proper place.

Snowplow, it seemed, had other ideas.

In one sudden move, the previously resting riding goggles and silver jacket found themselves yanked into the air in the grasp of the horse's teeth. Said stallion's demeanor changed completely in an instant, legs splayed out like a mischievous foal ready to sprint away with the wanted items, ears pricked forward, muscles eagerly tensing, watching Matoro and waiting for him to try taking the clothes back.

"What the- Snowplow! What are you doing?" the Toa exclaimed in confusion and surprise, more amused than upset. He moved forward and reached out to grab the jacket and goggles away, only for Snowplow to decide the game had begun, and run to the other end of the stall with a nicker, head held high in a game of keep-away. Then he stopped, turned to face the Toa, and resumed his earlier pose, waiting for Matoro to make the next move.

The alien warrior walked towards him again, hand held out to take back the items of focus. "Snowplow, come on, give them back. I doubt Austin and Taylor are going to be happy if they find this stuff chewed on or otherwise dirty." But instead of placing them in Matoro's proffered hand, the stallion ran around to the back of him and dropped the riding goggles to hang around the Toa's neck and the jacket to rest over his shoulders.

He blinked, turning around to stare at the horse in confusion for a few seconds. Then, with a smile and chuckle, he shook his head in amusement and, beginning to pet Snowplow on the muzzle, said, "Something tells me I'll _never_ be able to expect all of your antics…"

A second chuckle from outside the stall drew both their attention to where Taylor stood, having watched the entire clothing fiasco. "I guess you two managed to find the clothing that was originally here with the riding helmet. Strangely enough, you almost look ready for the Thornbranch Roundup."

Matoro blinked in surprise at that. "Wait, these are the clothes you mentioned yesterday? And what's the Thornbranch Roundup?" As he asked this, he began taking off the jacket and goggles and setting them back in their bin, since it was too hot of a day to wear a jacket.

"Yeah, they are. Go ahead and bring them with you back to the house - something tells me you're the only one they'll fit on. I'll explain the Roundup on the way there. It's breakfast time, so Dad sent me to wake you up."

"All right, then…" the Toa replied, re-fastening the lid on the bin. He gave Snowplow one last rub behind the ear, then made his way out of the stall, carrying the clothes that had so suddenly become his.

"Now, the Thornbranch Roundup is a pretty big event for all those in its namesake town, so I suggest you take all this to heart. It's a big annual get-together of sorts for all the town's horsefolk, no matter what kind of horsefolk they might be - traders, breeders, ranchers big or small, owners strict or soft, lovers of dressage, jumping, cross-country, racing, or any other horse sport, you name them, you'll find them. And, of course, where the horsefolk go, their horses follow. It's almost like a carnival or fair, to be honest, but more focused on horses. Some people auction off horses for others to buy - though we've personally never been at the selling end. There's social pens where people can take their horses to socialize with other horses. Parents looking for good ranches for their kids to ride at tend to show up as well. There's your usual carnival or fair food and drinks, along with games on the side. All the friendly horsefolk like to gather by the bonfires at night, sometimes with their horses in tow, to chat, catch up on the news, and share stories. And then, of course, there's the Fun Sports that are always a blast to participate in."

By then, they had reached the house, and were entering the kitchen to have some breakfast. As they sat down to eat, Matoro piped up. "It certainly sounds like a lot of fun, now that you've explained it. What are you planning to do there this year, exactly?"

Austin wiped a bit of ketchup off of his mouth with his napkin and replied, "Well, I was kinda hoping to take you and Snowplow along."

As misfortune would have it, the Toa currently being addressed had been in the middle of chewing some O'Brien potatoes at the moment he'd received his reply. Thus, when the proverbial bombshell was dropped, he was so startled that his food made a beeline down his windpipe and sent him into a rather harsh coughing fit. After a few minutes, he finally swallowed his food _properly _and stammered, "Wh-why are you bringing me along? I just got here a day or two ago - I barely have any experience with this kind of thing! And besides, I'm not exactly _normal_ for these parts. Won't everyone there freak out?"

"Well," Austin began, "I usually bring Sandy to compete in the Fun Sports, along with Ironsides and Maple to act as kiddie rides and show how gentle and friendly our horses available to ride are, and perhaps pull in a few more good customers. This year, I can still bring Ironsides and Maple, but Sandy's going to have to stay here with Speck, so we need a different horse for the Fun Sports. If your short ride with Snowplow yesterday is anything to go by, you and him get along _brilliantly_. Because of that, I feel the two of you would be ideal to represent us. And, like you said, you barely have any experience, which is what the Roundup will give you. In fact, in itself, it's an experience you don't want to miss. This'll let you see what the world of horse ranching is like, let you get to know everyone, and give you a chance to better tell your story. And don't worry about your appearance - around here, people judge you by what you do and why, not what you look like _as_ you do it. Once they see how well you ride, the ones who are actually _worth_ knowing will accept you, and those who aren't won't."

The Toa cleared his throat a little - it was still somewhat scratchy from nearly choking - and replied, "Now that you put it that way, it does sound like a good idea. I'll go with you."

••••••••

An hour had passed, and Matoro was out by the grooming area with Snowplow, giving him a much lighter grooming than yesterday. He was still feeling a bit jittery about the upcoming Roundup, and was saying as much to Snowplow.

"It all seems so sudden, honestly," he admitted as he ran the curry comb through the stallion's comb. "After all, it's tomorrow, and I only just heard about it today. It's not like I could really control when I suddenly found myself on this planet and thus given myself more time, but… still."

Snowplow turned to look at him from the side, ears aimed toward him, listening carefully.

He picked up the hard brush and began using it, continuing on, "I'm nervous about the whole idea that we'll be competing in front of a crowd, even if it's mostly for fun and the prize is only a small number of ten-dollar bills. What will they all think if we mess up? What if they laugh?"

The stallion head-butted him in the ribs gently, then gave a soft, reassuring neigh and snort.

The Toa relaxed a bit more and thanked his horse with a gentle scratch behind the ears, picking out a small burr that got caught on Snowplow's neck. Picking up the mane-and-tail comb, he resumed the grooming with a decent amount of nerves lingering. "On top of that, there's the big old question of whether everyone will accept me as I am. I'm not exactly familiar with human history and customs - what if I accidentally offend someone who turns others against me or gets Austin and Taylor in trouble? I don't want that to happen after all they've done for me…"

His quadruped friend tossed his head, sniffed at an apple in the tree overhead, then turned to look back at him with a snort.

He obliged and plucked the apple for Snowplow to munch on, finally relenting. "Come to think of it, there _will_ be a lot of new foods there to try. I suppose, if anything, I can look forward to that." He tossed the apple's core aside as it was finished, noting that Snowplow suddenly seemed more tense. Following the stallion's gaze, he saw that his current focus was the garage nearby. The garage held the pickup trucks that Austin used - two of them, to be precise - but it also held the two horse trailers that the family owned. "Ah… that's right. You're going to be riding in a horse trailer. You probably aren't used to that, are you?" He scratched him behind the ears again. "Don't worry, pal. I'll never be far from you during the ride. At farthest, I'll be in the pickup that's pulling the trailer you're in."

Snowplow head-butted him once more, yawning to regain his breath after being so nervous.

As he bent down to begin cleaning the horse's hooves, however, he was unaware of a mischievous idea brewing in his head. Snowplow briefly bent his neck to sniff at a trough that had been filled with rain the previous night, which sat on the opposite side of him from Matoro. Flicking his tail so a good deal of its end rested in the water, he let it soak… then flung it around to slap the Toa in the face, much like he had the previous day.

At once, Matoro spluttered in indignation, shaking his head and looking back over his shoulder at Snowplow with a quirked eyebrow. "Really?" he asked aloud. "You're starting this again?"

The stallion tossed his head and went back to looking around him, already bored.

Matoro grinned as he turned to resume cleaning the hooves before him. He knew exactly how he'd get payback… At last, he finished grooming his friend, and, acting like he was moving to untie him and lead him back to his stall, he instead dipped his hands into the trough from before, used his powers to make the water cold… and splashed Snowplow back with both hands.

With a playful neigh, his horse turned to face him and spurred the action to a full-on splash fight, using his muzzle to fling water at his two-legged friend, who laughed and covered his face half-heartedly, then responded in kind. Water flew wildly back and forth, left and right. Their playing didn't stop until after the trough was empty, at which point they called a good-natured truce and Matoro grabbed a towel to dry the two of them off.

It was this sight that reached Austin's eyes as he walked by with a stack of saddles that needed minor repairs. He was startled enough to stop and stare, wondering aloud, "What in tarnation happened to the two of you?"

"_He_ started it…" Matoro said. Snowplow only responded by slapping him behind the head with his still-wet tail.

••••••••

Now, it was late evening, and Matoro found himself back in the guest bedroom he'd been given to use. He was polishing his armor, and a raven had decided to perch outside his open window for the night.

"You wouldn't happen to have ever mobbed the owls in the barn, would you?" he asked aloud. Surprisingly, the raven changed its behaviors to appear more innocent, as if saying, _Me? Never!_ It preened its wings sheepishly and looked around, acting like it didn't know of the owls he spoke of.

"I certainly hope you don't. Snowplow seems to really enjoy their company, and they keep the rodents out of the hay. For that matter, I wonder if Snowplow's ever seen you around when he's out in the meadow with the other horses. He probably sees the farthest out of all of them."

The raven cocked its head to the side, as if wondering which horse he was referring to.

"The big, silver-white stallion, tons of muscle…" he lifted his hand to a foot above his head, "about yea high?"

The bird made a noise along the lines of "hm" and ducked its head as if in thought.

"For all I know, you could even have been outside of Thornbranch before. Wonder if you've ever hung out at the Roundup… it's probably chock-full of food for you to pilfer. All sorts of sweets and drinks for humans, and grains and water for horses…"

The raven licked its chops in agreement.

Taylor, at that moment, had been walking into Matoro's room to tell him something, and was a bit surprised to see his shoulder armor removed, for he seemed slightly bony underneath. Hearing her enter, he turned to look. "What is it, Taylor?" he asked.

"Dad wanted me to let you know that you're going to be in the same truck as him, but we'll have a baby monitor set up so we can hear if Snowplow gets too nervous."

He nodded, and she left. Deciding at last that his armor was looking as clean as he could make it, he began reaching to turn off the light - only to pause as he saw the raven looking at him again, with one of its own feathers held through a hole in the window screen. Surprised, he leaned forward and took it, then watched as the raven settled down to sleep. He looked at the feather again, then placed it on his bedside table, turning off the light and following the raven's example.

••••••••

_The dark shapes slid noiselessly over the road. The moon could barely even catch their forms for brief moments through the trees. How many were there? Five? Ten? Fifteen? The shape of the ranch, where he was so welcome, loomed one mile away. And, ever so faintly…. he could smell smoke and hear screams… the screams of horses._


	6. Chapter 6: At the Gates

**A/N: A bit of a little vocabulary lesson here. Later on in this chapter, you'll see the phrase:**

the raven let out an echoing _CAW_, letting an enormous unkindness of its fellows know to follow in its wake

**Well, "an unkindness" actually happens to be the specific term for a group of ravens, like how a group of lions is "a pride", a group of seals or whales is "a pod", a group of crows is "a murder", etc, etc. **

**Also, if there IS an actual Sunhigh Stables out there, I promise that I mean no insult to whoever works at/owns/rides at it. I was just trying to think of a good name for a stable, and Sunhigh Stables stuck.**

**On with the story!**

Chapter 6: At the Gates

It was morning again. And he felt like he needed to wake up for some reason other than waking up's sake. But why? He lay there, blinking at the ceiling above him, until he caught a glint of silver out of the corner of his eye and remembered. Today would be the first day of the Roundup.

He sat up, shaking his head to dispel what fog of sleep remained clinging to it, looking around. He grabbed the helmet and goggles that he'd been given to use, then got to his feet, stretching and yawning. By some means, Austin knew he had woken up, and called out, "You might want to take a quick shower this mornin'!" from within the living room. Odd knowledge aside, he was right. It would do him well to get cleaned up if they were going out in public… _especially_ after all the work he'd been doing.

Luckily, it seemed that Toa didn't really have a need to use soap. It was difficult to get their metallic skin dirty, and what dirt _did_ stick came off easily.

Darting back to the guest-room while wrapped in a towel to put on his outer armor, he saw that the raven from the previous night was just beginning to wake up. It turned its head to keep watching him, then shook itself and flew off.

Breakfast, it turned out, was a hearty helping of oatmeal with fruit mixed in, and a drizzle of honey to top it. There wasn't much chatter as the trio ate, and the meal ended quickly.

As soon as he'd had his last bite, Matoro hurried out to the barn, knowing Snowplow would need grooming. "Who's keeping an eye on the other horses the week we're gone?" he asked Austin as they both left the house.

"Whitney and Ross are working together to do so. They'll call us if anything happens." the human replied.

Upon entering the second barn (he'd parted ways with Austin when the man entered the first to prep Ironsides and Maple) Matoro was surprised to see Sandy leaning her head out of the foaling stall and neighing back-and-forth with Snowplow. Perhaps she was trying to encourage him, reassuring him everything went well for her, and thus should for him? Whatever it was, they stopped not long after he entered. He headed towards his horse's stall, and looked in to find him mouthing some of his straw in boredom.

"Hey, pal…" he said as he entered. "You ready for the big day? We're going to start by grooming you real quick. Wouldn't want any stones to lodge in your hooves and annoy you the whole length of the trip." He haltered the stallion and began leading him out to be groomed.

However, after he'd finished, Austin approached with what appeared to be a length of bandage in his hands. "Wrap one and a half feet of his tail in this, starting about an inch past the top. Be sure it's made nice and firm, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation."

Matoro nodded and began doing so, noting that Snowplow was tense again, and once more staring at the trailers, which Taylor was currently working on hitching to the trucks. Having finished, he grabbed some carrot chunks they'd set aside and let Snowplow eat a small handful, to help calm him down. They moved out of the way so that Ironsides and Maple could start being groomed, and got their first good look at the trailer and truck. There was a side door, human-size, for access to the water trough, which was already full, and a bigger door _around_ it to reach the front of the horse. Overhead was a small hay-net, full as well, to keep Snowplow amused during the short trip. Rubber matting and straw covered the floor.

The pickup truck was the usual burly fare, with two front seats and a narrow row of back seats reached via the gap in the front. There was a good-sized window providing a view through the back of the cab, and the seats were apparently adjustable, so Matoro's height wouldn't be a problem. There was a small, crystalline-looking sculpture of a hummingbird hanging from the middle rearview mirror, and the scent it was letting out seemed oddly familiar… but why?

A whistle from Austin drew his attention back to the present. "Go ahead and secure Snowplow over here. We're going to save the horse-loading until after we've got their gear loaded."

And, as it turned out, there was a _lot_ of gear and tack to load. First, of course, there were the stable blankets for all three horses, which were folded up and put neatly in the bed of the truck Austin would be driving. Then there were the saddles for Ironsides and Maple, each packed in its own box, along with the rolled-up saddle rugs for both. Next were the bridles, which were carefully tucked away to avoid tangling. Grooming equipment was packed up and strapped down, too. And then there were treats for the horses, and plenty of feed and water. Then, at last, came things that weren't horse-focused. A cooler full of steaks and other meat was slid in, then one full of drinks. A couple of blankets were put inside, too, and some sleeping bags. He was starting to lose track of everything they were putting into the trucks, to be honest. Then, at last, it became time to put the horses into the trailers.

Slowly and gently, Matoro led Snowplow into the trailer, keeping a hand on the front of his muzzle and making sure the smaller side-door was still open. The audial baby-monitor was switched on, and he saw the rear doors close and butt-strap secured. Carefully, he removed Snowplow's halter and held out some hay so that his horse could feel more safe. Then, he had an idea.

He picked up the baby monitor they'd placed in the trailer, and held it near his head, while the one that would go in the truck was held up more towards Snowplow's ear. He let the first pick up a few of his sounds, and watched as Snowplow became alert upon hearing those exact same sounds come out of the second one. Now the horse understood. "See, pal? We really won't be far. If we hear you're upset, we'll stop and check on you the first chance we get." Snowplow head-butted him affectionately, then began eating some of the hay, letting him back out of the trailer and close the side-door.

At that moment, he heard the sound of the other trailer's rear door shutting. It was time to start heading out. Everything was ready.

He sat down carefully in the passenger-side seat, adjusting it so his head would stop pressing against the ceiling. It took him a while to grasp the concept of the seatbelt, but once he had, he simply waited patiently for their trip to begin.

He watched in interest as Austin inserted the key into the ignition, intrigued by this method of starting a vehicle. Soon, an odd rumble came from beneath them, and the lights within the truck powered up. They were ready to go.

The lush countryside around them began to slowly roll past, then picked up speed. It was only now that Matoro saw Whitney and Ross. They were standing patiently by the gate, which they'd opened, and he saw Austin give them a jaunty salute before continuing on past. Then, at long last, they were on the open road.

Through the side-mirror, he saw the second pickup truck, driven by Taylor, amble its way out of the ranch's gate behind them. It was a somewhat odd procession, to be honest, with the curved tops of the tall horse-trailers clashing with the blockier designs of the more squat pickups, but, after a few minutes, Matoro couldn't help but admit that he _liked_ how it clashed. It seemed a bit rebellious, even the slightest bit sarcastic or snarky, if possible. Deliberately rough-and-tumble, unrefined.

The road they were on soon changed to pavement, and Matoro was surprised to see another horse trailer up ahead, taking the same route as their own. "Are those people heading to the Roundup as well?" he asked.

Austin nodded. "A _lot_ of folks around here are. I don't think there's a single square mile in this city that doesn't have at least one trained horse living on it."

And, indeed, this proved to be true. Within five minutes, two more trailer-and-truck pairs had joined their ragtag caravan. To either side of them, the landscape had become a quilt of trailer parks, horse ranches, and small neighborhoods. Everything seemed incredibly peaceful and carefree.

However, such peace briefly stopped as a large group of brightly decorated horse trailers and shining white pickup trucks pulled out before them. Bright blue clouds were printed along their sides, the words "Sunhigh Stables" glaring boldly out from the center on a background of a harsh orange sun. The trailers and trucks began hogging all three lanes of that side of the road, forcing everyone who had hoped to pass the exit of their "stables" to slow to a crawl.

Immediately, he heard Austin's breath grow tight, and saw the man's knuckles whiten. His eyes were fixed on the stable name, glaring. It was almost a bit frightening, to be honest.

"… is everything okay?" he tentatively asked, unsure why Austin was so grim.

As if his words had been a finger-snap, the male human finally relaxed, sighing in resignation. "Sunhigh Stables used to own Snowplow. They're the ones that turned him against humankind."

In an instant, Matoro felt his blood turn to ice, realizing just _why_ Austin must hate those stables. And, truthfully, he couldn't blame the man. Anyone who tormented a horse so greatly deserved to be punished in kind.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Matoro saw something peculiar. A raven was perched upon a post of a fence along the roadside to their right, staring at him head-on. Since it was still going to be some time before they could continue onward, no thanks to Sunhigh Stables, he turned to look at the raven as well. And then… the raven winked.

Matoro's eyes widened in surprise at the action, but before he could point it out, the raven lifted its wings to take flight, and he saw that one of its inky black primaries was missing - the same primary that the raven from the previous night had plucked to give to him. And, as it launched itself skyward, the raven let out an echoing _CAW_, letting an enormous unkindness of its fellows know to follow in its wake, soaring out of the surrounding trees. He heard Austin exclaim in surprise at the sudden uproar, but paid him no mind, watching the cloud of black swirl upwards and forth, straight at the Sunhigh Stables trucks and the single gleaming Rolls-Royce leading the proud procession. Then, as one, the birds dove and wreaked havoc.

The most well-fed birds stuck to the air, becoming airborne archers as they aimed and fired with their putrid, white, goopy projectiles. They made bulls-eyes of gleaming hubcaps and logos, graffitied every exposed piece of exterior glass. Those with the sharpest talons and beaks tore, scratched, and pecked at waving pennants and gleaming paint jobs, becoming caught in a mad ballet as they avoided the white missiles from above. And, last but not least, those of sharpest mind clung to wheels and undid every other lug-nut, and, in the case of the raven who had winked, perched rebelliously on the hood of the Rolls-Royce and yanked off its gleaming decal.

For a few minutes after all the ravens departed, Matoro simply sat there gaping, certainly not having expected what he had just seen. Then he and Austin were both overwhelmed by laughter at the absurdity of it all. It seemed that it would, perhaps, be one of the few times those detested Sunhigh Stables caused them to laugh.

The ride, from that point on, was greatly uneventful, other than a few points where birds of varying kinds saw fit to fly alongside their truck for a brief while, even going so far as to cling to the door handle on Matoro's side, hitching a ride. In all, their traveling only took an hour, and they soon saw the colorful expanse of the Thornbranch Roundup's beginnings spreading before them.

At that point, it seemed like only two in every twenty-five vehicles on the road between them and the entrance to the Roundup wasn't pulling a horse trailer. And even some of _those_ few were turning into the entrance as well. Before long, it was their turn, and they pulled up to have themselves listed as attending.

The woman in the entryway booth was somewhat elderly, but nonetheless jubilant at seeing just about every familiar face, and greeting unfamiliar ones. As she saw Austin in the driver's seat, her grin widened. "Austin Thistle, you ol' rascal. I thought you said Sandy had won enough Fun Sports to last a lifetime! What're _you_ doing back here _again_?" she jokingly said.

"You know Taylor and I, Mrs. O'Harrel. Wouldn't miss the Roundup for the world. And besides, it's not Sandy in the one-horse trailer. She's back on the ranch with her newborn foal."

The woman gasped in amazement. "A _foal_? Sweet heavens, how old is it? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A tiny filly, only born a few days ago. She's already a handful, and _very_ energetic."

"But if it isn't Sandy in the trailer," Mrs. O'Harrel asked, "who _is_ it?

"Snowplow."

"Snowplow? I thought you said nobody could go near him!"

"Nobody could… _until_ a day or two ago." Austin gestured to the Toa sitting beside him. "Mrs. O'Harrel, I'd like you to meet a new friend of ours: Matoro."

She blinked in surprise as she had a good look at him. "Well, I'll be… you're the alien that Dale Bowreed was goin' on about, aren't ya?" she asked.

"He sure is. And, believe it or not, Snowplow trusts him enough to let him ride him!"

"Land sakes! Well, if Snowplow trusts him, I know _I_ can." She reached out her right hand, and Matoro shook it, still surprised that he was able to be trusted so easily by someone. Then her hand withdrew, and she pointed to a road leading to the left. "Head that way, Austin, and we'll check the horses in like we always do. I take it Taylor's in the truck behind you?"

"Yep, that's her."

"I'll let her right on through!"

They began rolling down the road they'd been pointed to, and soon came to a dirt clearing, where other horses were already being checked in as they watched. Luckily, no trailers from Sunhigh Stables were to be found, and it seemed only a few of the dozen helpers were currently occupied.

Austin parked their truck, and Taylor followed suit a meter to their left. Then the three of them quickly got out and worked to begin unloading the horses.

When Matoro opened the side-door of the trailer, Snowplow immediately swung his head around to head-butt him, neighing happily at the fact that the ride, short as it might have been, was over. His nostrils began flaring wide, smelling a lot of new things all around them, and the Toa took the opportunity to re-halter him, waiting until Snowplow's head was lowered again to close the side-door behind him. Carefully, he helped the stallion turn around to face the back of the trailer and undid the butt-strap as Austin began opening the rear door. Then, they walked slowly out of the trailer, testing the ground beneath their feet.

Almost at once, a helper began walking towards them, a microchip scanner in hand. After a brief double-take upon seeing Matoro, the man shrugged and resumed his path in their direction, immediately coming to stand beside Snowplow's neck. It only took a brief twenty seconds to confirm Snowplow's ID, then Matoro was allowed to begin walking him to relax his muscles again.

As he hand-walked Snowplow in laps around half the unloading area, he noticed that the helper seemed to be having a rather energetic conversation with Austin, even going so far as to shoot looks Matoro's way. It was quite odd, to say the least. Then, at last, the helper handed Austin a map of the Roundup grounds, and he and Taylor walked over with Ironsides and Maple in tow.

"It's only a five-minute walk to the stalls we've been given to use for the week. They'll drive our trailers over to where they're keeping all the others for now, and we just need to show this card if we want to get the stuff out of the truck beds." Austin explained as they began heading through the crowds to the makeshift stables. All around them were jumbles of color, smell, and sound, the likes of which Matoro had never seen. In a nearby stall, a man in a pinstripe suit was dipping an odd cardboard cone into a swirling mass of pink, blue, and yellow, small children pressing their faces to the glass eagerly. Long pieces of dough were being stretched, twisted, deep-fried, and sprinkled with sugar in another. Odd little games were being played in every direction he looked, all in the hopes of winning small prizes like trinkets, plushes, quilts, and toys. On a nearby grassy hill, several families were enjoying delicious picnic food, and in the distance, he heard someone speaking very quickly and loudly about numbers in a way he couldn't quite get the gist of. The smell of sweets, fruit, and barbecue wafted heavily on the air. Among the crowd, he could see the bright eyes and high heads of horses being led to and fro.

At last, they reached the horse stalls, and everyone found a chance to catch their breath. "All right," Austin began. "I'm going to get Ironsides and Maples scheduled for some work on the kiddie rides, and sign up our new duo for the Fun Sports. Taylor, why don't you show Matoro around a bit? I think the best time for us to make our mark on the Fun Sports would be starting at about five this afternoon, so that'll give you both time to relax." He tossed them a bundle of tokens and smiled. "Go have some fun, you two."

While Taylor immediately began running off in pursuit of some specific fun, Matoro couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by all his options. Colorful prizes, crafts, and foods gleamed every which way he looked. He knew that the games would be fun, but he didn't want to be too big a showoff. After all, he was an experienced, strong warrior, and had the accuracy gifted to all ice Toa.

But then, at last, he decided. He would do things honestly and not tone down his skill, but, where he _did_ manage to get a grand prize that a child might want, give it to a young child to make someone's day more happy. In fact, that would be what he _aimed_ to do. So why not focus on games of skill?

One caught his eye off to the side, a simple game of throwing darts at balloons to pop them. He walked over, and almost immediately noticed something. The tips of the darts were blunted - it would be very difficult for any human to throw them hard enough to win. The game was rigged! Well, it may have been rigged for humans, but for a Toa… it was rookie's play.

He noted a single-child family beginning to walk dejectedly away from the game stall, the child's rubbing of his shoulder indicating it was sore from repeated and failed attempts to beat the game. He held a hand out to stop them, asking, "What prize were you trying to win?"

The older male turned and pointed. "My son wanted the big plush of Cloud, the stallion. He loves the movies and books about Cloud, but none of the balloons ever seem to pop when they get hit."

Matoro smiled and winked. "If you'll wait just a few minutes, I guarantee that when you leave for home today, it'll be with that plush in tow."

The man blinked in surprise, but nodded all the same.

The Toa stepped forward to speak to the stall's manager. "What would it take to win that plush of Cloud?" he asked, with a gesture of his head to the prize he spoke of.

The brown-haired, skinny entertainer showed only a moment's surprise at this new customer's appearance before he put on a sly grin and replied, "_Weellll,_ big fella, all you gotta do is pop _five_ of those lil' gold balloons…" and here he pointed a digit at several minuscule glints of golden hue visible between the crowded neon shapes of the larger balloons, "… with _these_ ten darts!" He quirked a challenging eyebrow. "So, whaddaya say, pal? Think you can do it? Only takes _twoooo_ tokens!"

"I don't _think…_" was the reply, "I _know._"

The stall man placed the small tub of darts before him and stepped back, pressing a button Matoro hadn't noticed before and making the circle of material the balloons were attached to start to spin. "Well then, what are you waiting for? Let 'em fly!"

To the human's chagrin, his stall's newest challenger didn't even flinch at the added challenge of a moving target. Instead, he picked up the first of his darts, cocked his head to judge his aim, stepped back… then he was leaning forward and the dart was away, zipping by in such a blur that it popped one of the larger, neon-green balloons as it skimmed its side, then buried itself in the now-punctured remains of its golden quarry, leaving the stall's manager slack-jawed with surprise.

Matoro, on the other hand, simply let a grin tease the corner of his mouth at the shock of not only the cheater, but several other humans who had simply been passing by and witnessed the feat. This stall had become known for its inexplainable difficulty, with how the darts _never_ seemed to pop any of the balloons. And yet, he'd popped two with a single throw.

Then another dart was held aloft, and went whistling in pursuit of a glint of gold, its three feather-rudders each slicing into deflation one large, bright balloon, and the tip defeating its golden prey. In rapid succession, each of the remaining eight darts followed in kind… and the manager of the stall could only stand, gape, and stare, all but one of the balloons on the wheel popped. But even _that_ balloon decided to shame the man who put it there for all to target, giving in to a scratch from one of the projectiles and letting its air rush out in a hiss. All _ten_ of the gold balloons and all _thirty_ colored ones, kaput.

Timidly, the man who had so deliberately made his game "gaffed" grabbed the hook-pole to bring down the cherished plush into reach. He shakily handed it to the, quite plainly, un-gaff-able alien warrior who had done the unimaginable, and then sank back against the leg of the table that his game stood, once proudly, upon, head in both hands, needing time to make sense out of what had just happened.

Able to see that the former cheat had at last learned his lesson, Matoro turned to walk towards the family he had told to wait, then knelt to be at eye level with the young boy who had so sought to earn the plush he now held. Said plush was held out towards the lad, offered with the words, "I believe that _this_ is rightfully yours."

The boy gaped at him, astonished, and carefully picked up the plush in both hands, staring at it somewhat disbelievingly. Then, he dashed forward and gave his new hero a tight hug with one arm, which was returned after a moment of surprise on the hero's own part. All those watching chuckled, realizing that, for once in a long while, there wasn't the slightest bit of unhappiness to be seen before them. No stall continuing to cheat, no unhappy child, nothing of the sort.

••••••••

It was around three-thirty when Taylor and Austin finally saw Matoro heading back towards the stalls they were renting, and when he did, it was with no more than a dream-catcher in hand. All the same, he looked quite content.

"Where've _you_ been hanging out all day?" Taylor asked him.

"Nowhere much, just around the food and game stalls."

"Really?" Austin inquired. "And yet you only came back with a dreamcatcher. Did a rigged game get you?"

The Toa laughed, shaking his head. "More like the other way around… with _multiple_ rigged games."

"Multiple? What do you mean?"

However, it was at that moment that Matoro's reply was cut off by the crackling to life of the loudspeakers overhead.

_"All participants in the five o'clock Fun Sports Race, please begin prepping your horses. I repeat, all participants in the five o'clock Fun Sports Race, please begin prepping your horses."_


	7. Chapter 7: Neck and Neck

Chapter 7: Neck and Neck

Austin turned to look at the now-silent loudspeakers and exclaimed, "What the - how did it get so late so quick?" He turned back to face the stables. "Matoro, that race includes _you_. Ya gotta start getting ready!"

Matoro's eyes widened, and he immediately scrambled over to where Snowplow's wickie bridle and stable blanket were neatly set aside. Grabbing them, he slipped into Snowplow's stall and began tacking the horse up, checking his hooves one last time for stones or clods, then pushed the mounting block over and hopped up, accepting his helmet and goggles. He looked to the humans and asked, "Where do I go to warm him up?"

"Follow the other people on horseback who are heading towards the highway side of this area. You'll find your way as long as you do that." Taylor told him. "We're going to see if we can get some good seats to watch you race."

He nodded, and pressed Snowplow forward to begin parting the crowds. Many bystanders stopped and stared at the somewhat larger-than-life duo, some recognizing him for defeating so many rigged games, others having not seen him before in the slightest. A few went so far to follow them in intrigue. But there was _one_ gaze in the crowd that drew quite a bit of his focus.

A young man, about twenty years of age if Matoro guessed right, was watching them pass with an air of snobbish disgust and disapproval. He was dressed immaculately in a royal blue riding jacket accented with reddish orange, a harsh color combination that seemed eerily familiar. His pants were dark grey cloth of an unknown variety, and his boots and helmet black and velvety. Matoro didn't fail to notice that a supple riding whip had found its home in this unfamiliar human's hand, and felt unease settle over him at the sight. Why would anyone want to use _pain_ to make a horse do what they wanted? This was quite obviously a person set on not getting along with Matoro, and, to be honest, Matoro was _glad_ - he wouldn't even _think_ of befriending anyone who used a whip on an animal. He returned the glare, noting that Snowplow had grown tense under him and seemed to be holding his breath.

Then, a teenage girl in the same immaculate outfit began passing by. The first whip-bearer turned to whisper something in her ear, gaze still on Matoro… which let the Toa see something that chilled him to the core, much worse than any icy wind he could summon. Sewn onto the wrist of the human's riding jacket were the letters SHS. Sunhigh Stables.

The girl was _also_ looking at him disdainfully now, and nodded before tossing her head and walking briskly off. He, finally understanding, returned the glare of the first human, turning to further face him and make sure no moves were made toward himself or Snowplow. It seemed like forever, but, at last, his newfound enemy vanished from sight.

It turned out that a large, grassy area had been marked off for warming up near where the Fun Sports were to take place. The course they were to run was rather simple, an uncrossed eight of sorts, or an oval with the longer curves pressed inwards. It was a dirt one, made somewhat trickier by the fact that it had yet to even once be packed to firmness through earlier races. The only markers to the edges were mere lengths of plastic white picket fence here and there. Stands lined the outside of half of it, and already people were grabbing the best seats.

He pulled his goggles into place and adjusted his helmet, then started Snowplow into a trot around the edges of the warm-up area, letting him ease into the quicker paces. As they warmed up, he took note of their competition.

_Alright, this man's a bit older, and so is his horse - I'd say the man's about 40 or so, and his horse the equivalent of that in horse age. The rider has calluses in his hands - most likely from plenty of usage of the reins. He obviously has experience, and if the amount of lean muscle his horse has retained is anything to go by, __**it**__ has experience, too. However, they seem to occasionally fumble a good bit on their turns, and the horse looks like it's starting to favor its left hind leg the slightest amount. I'd best be cautious of them, but not leave them the center of my focus in its entirety._

_ Next duo - younger boy, tween or young teen, on a mare who seems in her prime but a bit scatterbrained and/or clumsy. Their turns are sloppy. No whip - thank goodness, if only for the horse's sake - but the boy seems rather impatient when she doesn't respond correctly and actually has bounced on her back a bit heavily out of frustration. Keep a wary eye on them, at most - I wouldn't be surprised if that mare eventually just bucks the boy off out of annoyance and leaves him lying on the track to teach him a lesson as she trots away, as well as leaving __us__ a new obstacle._

_ Hm, next duo isn't looking very hopeful. Snobbish girl, luckily in no way associated with Sunhigh Stables, judging by her garishly bright red riding jacket and dust-colored pants, but definitely an abuser of the whip. Her horse is a stallion, and he __**would**__ be in his prime were it not for his rider. She keeps the rein far too tight and is holding it bunched up clumsily in one hand, forcing him to keep his head "fashionably" up but still expecting him to run properly when he can't stretch his neck out instinctually with every stride like he's built to. Steering with only one hand and keeping his head so painfully high are making him too confused to follow __**any**__ instructions, so he can't run a steady straightaway to save his life, and his turns consist of him nearly losing his footing and struggling to stand up facing the new direction. On top of that, she's blaming him for every mistake and punishing with three slaps of the whip each time, confusing him even more with the extra pain. I daresay she might've even overlooked a stone in one of his hooves. They won't be any challenge, but I pity the horse._

_ And, last but not least, the Sunhigh Stables lackey. This guy definitely can make his horse do as told, but the horse can't hold out for long. Their turns and straightaways are efficient, but I can see the punishment always reserved for erring - a whip-strike - is adding up stress in the horse, steadily. Its sides are tight… it's trying to hold its breath out of discomfort despite also responding to physical commands, which requires it to use up oxygen, and thus is going to be very out-of-breath if it keeps doing so. Wait, hold on… why isn't it using its tail to flick away the flies that are biting its rump? I can count at least ten of them - having them there can't be pleasant, so why isn't it flicking them away? And, for that matter, why isn't the rider noticing them? It looks like it's going to fumble with its back legs at any moment due to the pain, and all the rider does is add to the pain with his whip. The heck?_

He let Snowplow ease into a gallop, and did a good ten more laps before having them about-face so their turns would be practiced in the other direction, the rest of the competitors following suit. At this point, the stands were beginning to become quite full, but more people were still filtering in. He was pleasantly surprised to see that several of the kids he had passed on prizes from rigged games to, including the boy with the Cloud plush, seemed to have come to watch him.

Before he knew it, the gate out to the course was opened to let them all through, and they were trotting up to the starting line, ready to race. The skittish mare was tugging at the bit, almost dancing back and forth in eagerness to start running. The mare ridden by the snobbish girl was shaking its head in an effort to lessen the pressure on its mouth. The elderly stallion was pawing at the dirt below him, eager but able to control himself. The stallion from Sunhigh Stables was obediently holding still.

Snowplow looked back towards him, nickering eagerly. He knew that, for the first time in his life, he was going to be racing, with a rider, against other horses, and he was showing that he believed in the two of them. The ice Toa nodded and patted his shoulder, and after he turned around, leaned forward in anticipation, ready and waiting.

The flag-bearer stepped up to his position at their left, and lifted his treasured piece of green cloth to the sky. Then, it swung earthward… and the race was on.

Everyone had somehow managed to get in front of Matoro and Snowplow in the rush to the inside line, but they were unfazed. For now, the elderly duo and the Sunhigh duo were competing for the lead, with the younger boy and mare behind them and the spoiled girl struggling to keep her mare under control. Matoro kept Snowplow at a steady pace for the time being, making their way up to behind the struggling pair.

Abruptly, the now-panicking girl and her horse swerved to the left, accidentally taking the longest stretch of the first inward curve. In an instant, they were passed in a blur of silver and white horse and Toa.

They pulled up behind the young boy just before the first big left turn, pulling out to their right in a feint. The bait was taken, and the inexperienced lad and mare moved to block their path, only for the off-worlder and the underdog equine to slip back to the inside line and past them like a mass of pale fog.

The elderly rider and horse, by then, had fallen behind from the Sunhigh duo, the stallion's left hind leg much more strongly favored now. They were on the next interior turn, and at last they let the newest rivals of Sunhigh pass them in favor of simply maintaining third place.

_Now_ they were truly putting on the pressure, only one opponent left between themselves and first place. The Sunhigh rider looked back and saw them, but wisely did not pull out in front of them to block their path. Instead, both found themselves neck and neck, even on the turns, where one would be forced to take the outer line.

The first lap was complete. The race was halfway done.

Both pairs in first were putting on the speed even further, but soon found themselves at an unsurpassable limit. Muscular legs shot out and pulled in like pistons of flesh, skin, and bone, tossing clods of dirt into the air around them. The sound of breath rushing through both equines' nostrils was like the grinding of a locomotive's wheels, each steed pushing itself to its limit in an effort to be the victor. Their riders' eyes were fixed on their course.

But then, as if a switch was flipped, something changed. It seemed that there was no such thing as a "limit" for Snowplow and Matoro. They became one mind, one soul, one _heart._ Arms and forelegs, legs and hind legs moved in perfect sync. Mane and tail became pale banners of undeniable victory. They only heard breath, heartbeat, the pounding of hooves, and the rush of blood in their ears, nothing else important, nothing else existent. They rode the wind one second and _were_ it the next, only aware of checkered black and white dancing in the sky ahead. And then the checkered banner vanished.

Sluggishly, their hearing returned, and they heard the raucous cheers of the crowds. They were aware of where each of them ended and the other began once again. Matoro and Snowplow could barely rein in their adrenaline as they pulled over to a stop at the outer barrier, and the Toa shakily slid off of his quadruped friend's back.

_Did we… __**really**__ just __**win?!**_

He looked over at Snowplow, and the horse turned and head-butted him in the chest. There was no doubt about it. They _had_ won!

The sound of voices yelling his name drew his attention to the stands. Austin and Taylor had been trying to ask him something.

"Well, champ, are you going to go accept your well-won money and trinket or not?" Austin exclaimed now that the Toa was actually listening.

Matoro looked around, and saw that the other competitors were all beginning to head towards the grassy area enclosed by the track, where Mrs. O'Harrel from the gates was standing alongside a man of about her age. Using Snowplow's reins to guide the aforementioned stallion, he followed their example, noting that the elderly lady also happened to have a small bin in her arms.

The man smiled at seeing the competitors gather before him, his beaming grin maintained as he turned to face the crowd in the stands. "As Mayor of Thornbranch," he exclaimed, "I, Donovan O'Harrell, am proud to present the winners of this year's first Thornbranch Roundup Fun Sports Race!"

He picked up a gleaming bronze horseshoe, pony-size, along with a handful of paper notes from the bin. "In third place," he said, turning to face the elderly man, "of his own representation, earning twenty-five dollars, Sampson Jones and his stallion, Orion!" The horseshoe and money was passed over, and the elderly fellow leaned over to pat his horse on the neck as the crowd cheered happily.

The next horseshoe was silver, and of standard thoroughbred size. "In second place, representing Sunhigh Stables, earning fifty dollars, Coleman Smith and his stallion, Shadowbolt!" The applause for the Sunhigh rider was, oddly enough, not as ecstatic as it was for Sampson, and the boy didn't even smile as he was handed his prize.

Then, the final horseshoe was pulled out of the bin. It was brilliant gold, and of Clydesdale size, fittingly enough. "Last but most certainly _not_ least, in first place, representing Thistle Horse Ranch, earning one hundred dollars, Matoro and his stallion, Snowplow!"

The applause and cheering from the crowd was _deafening_ as Matoro was handed the horseshoe. He was nearly blasted off his feet by the noise, and it was enough to spook the horses of the two youngsters who had failed to place. He blinked in surprise, but the mayor wasn't done. He turned back to face the crowds and said, "Let these two souls be an example to the world. Let them be proof that someone isn't defined by where they're from, or what they look like. It's what's _inside,_ and what _path_ they _take_, that makes them who they are!"

It was at that point that Matoro could say, for certain, that he was officially accepted in Thornbranch, Nevada.


	8. Chapter 8: Winner's Circle

Chapter 8: Winner's Circle

It seemed to have taken an eternity, but they were heading back to the temporary stalls again, making their way slowly through the crowds. Matoro and Snowplow were glad to stick to a walking pace after all the speed they'd been able to put on before. Austin and Taylor had reluctantly left them, needing to go retrieve Ironsides and Maple now that their shift as kiddie rides was over.

The sun was beginning to set, and it was unsurprising to see that several of the younger attendees to the Roundup were already beginning to nod off. More than once, he passed a parent with a sleeping child in their arms, most likely on their way home. Many booths had begun to close, and ravens were hopping around the grounds, eager and watching for an opportunity to steal some food in the difficulty of sight brought by the approach of evening.

A growl from his stomach reminded him that he'd been so distracted as to skip his lunch that day. All he'd had since breakfast was funnel cakes, churros, and a few other sweets - nowhere near enough to keep one full. Now that they were reaching the stables, he caught a whiff of an oddly mouth-watering scent… the smell of charcoal. But why would there be hot charcoals on the grounds of the Roundup?

The two humans chose that moment to appear with Ironsides and Maple in tow. "Smells like tonight's bonfires and barbecues are getting started up!" Taylor exclaimed as she and her father began putting the more elderly horses back in their stalls. "I wonder if old Sampson brought any homemade coleslaw. Been a while since he did, but it was _good_."

"Wasn't Sampson the guy who placed third in the race?" Matoro asked, trying to begin noting who was who in the community.

"He sure was," Austin said. "When we first moved here - Taylor was only about seven years old, then - he was one of the first people to reach out to us in welcome. Helped us along quite a bit, too, like when the only barn we had at the time was struck from above by a tree. All the horses managed to leap or bust out of their stalls and ran off, but he went out and tracked them down for us and brought them back while we did repairs. We've been friendly rivals in the Fun Sports ever since."

"Wow… it almost seems like Thornbranch is its _own_ herd of horses. Everyone watching out for each other and getting one another back on their feet… true unity if I ever saw it." the Toa replied, somewhat awestruck.

"And that 'herd' is going to include _you_ as well, pretty soon. Believe me, after seeing you work so well with Snowplow in the race, I doubt anyone worth knowing here _wouldn't_ consider you an equal." the male human replied.

"I'm very glad that's the case… I'd rather _not_ be cast out of such a kind community."

Taylor looked up at him. "Why don't we bring Snowplow along to the bonfire? Lots of people let their horses come with them to it, and it's not like there's much for him to do back here to while away the hours."

"You _do_ have a point, there…" he mused, turning to observe his equine friend. "Well, pal? What do _you_ think? Do you want to come along with us?"

An eager head-butt to the chest was the only reply he got.

Matoro laughed. "I'll take that as a yes!"

By then, the only sign that the sun had ever presided was a thin veil of gold receding over the western horizon. Snaking over that thin veil, not far ahead of the quartet, was a thin column of pale smoke spiraling up into the heavens. Friendly exclamations could be heard from the smoke's base as they made their steady approach, many people beginning to gather already.

Then a soft whinny, high in pitch, met their ears, and Snowplow's head jerked upwards, his eyes wide, ears pricked forward. It seemed that the noise meant something to him… he certainly increased his pace considerably.

When they finally got to the place where everyone else was, the sky had darkened completely. In the midst of it all, creating the smoke, was the bonfire, sitting comfortably in a stone-circled fire pit. The sizzle of barbecues could be heard from every side as steaks, hot dogs, burgers, and chicken were grilled, along with vegetables and… peaches? Huh.

However, not even a moment after Matoro got off of Snowplow's back, the whinny from earlier was heard again and a tiny pony, barely as tall as a human's dining table, barreled around the fire pit wall and straight at Snowplow. The larger horse, surprisingly, gave a much louder neigh and barreled at _it_ in turn, only for the two to stop inches from each other and brush noses.

A few of the watching humans laughed, amused at the size difference between the obviously friendly horses. One man even stood up, inquiring, "Is that _really_ Snowplow?"

"Sure is." Austin exclaimed. "I thought you, of all people, would recognize him, Simon."

"So did I. But he's grown so much, even since I brought him to you! He was so stressed and scrawny back then…" The man turned to look at the somewhat surprised Toa. "You're quite the miracle worker, pal. Most of us were certain that Sunhigh ruined him for life." Here he extended his right hand, which his addressee shook. "I'm Simon Hawthorne. I was the one who was originally hired to drive Snowplow and his dam to Sunhigh from the vet after his birth, and then just Snowplow to the Thistles after Sunhigh decided to flake out on him. To be honest… I wish that the first of the two wasn't true." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"It's all right." Matoro assured him. "I doubt anyone knew what was going to happen to him in the end…"

"Although, I suppose _one_ good thing did come of that. Little ol' Spitfire over there…" and here the man gestured to the pony that was playing chase with Snowplow along the outskirts of the bonfire's glow, "was being delivered to Sunhigh as well when Snowplow was born, and so they actually met in the trailer, since I was transporting them both. Spitfire had been purchased by Sunhigh's owner, Brunwella Solpor, as a birthday present for her niece. But her niece decided she didn't want him, so Brunwella just sold him off. I decided to be the one to buy the little guy. He's a lot more like a house pet than a horse, in all honesty."

The ice Toa's stomach growled ferociously at that moment, and he blushed as everyone laughed.

"I think that we can't get any better cue than _that_ telling us it's time to eat!" Austin chortled.

Paper plates and plastic utensils were passed out to everyone, and they began gathering around the barbecues and smokers to begin serving themselves. The food was extremely varied. Excellently cut steaks sat sizzling next to chicken, sausages, pork chops, and burger patties galore. The scent of many a homemade meat rub perked the senses. Vegetables and fruit had been streaked with dark bars, and all were grilled to perfection.

Matoro found that, once he had begun eating, a sense of contentment settled over him. Nothing was wrong at this moment. He was well fed, he wasn't thirsty, he was safe, with friends (Snowplow had actually laid down behind him), and the day had turned out great. How many people could truthfully say that, by only their fourth day present on a planet they'd never been to before - not to mention, only their _third_ day _awake_ on it - they'd become accepted into a community of a completely different species, befriended an individual creature others were lucky to safely approach, then be picked to publicly and competitively represent the family that had given him a home, however temporarily, and done so with _FLYING COLORS?_ He doubted anyone _else_ had in the past or present of the galaxy… this would be one for the Wall of History.

He gladly accepted a helping of homemade strawberry ice-cream, blinking owlishly at the moths and other small bugs fluttering around the bonfire. The mixture of temperatures the food he'd eaten provided him a comforting, blissful balance, and he leaned back against his horse, summoning an ice crystal to hover within the relaxed grasp of his left hand. He sighed contentedly, letting the small shard dance around his digits in a silent ballet. He semi-consciously tuned in to the friendly chatter and conversation around him.

"Anyone got any good stories to tell?" balding old Sampson Jones asked aloud from his place across the now-subdued bonfire. "I'm afraid that Orion and I have been leading a pretty calm life since our last meeting. Nothing for us to show or tell."

"Nothing to tell on this end, either." Simon piped up, scratching itches behind the ears of both Spitfire and the lanky lead-gray mare specked with white seated behind him. "For once, Spitfire's been acting manageably, and Saltwind here was ill until recently." Others were beginning to show similar lack of stories, shaking their heads 'no' and saying as much.

Matoro chuckled aloud, still occupying himself with the shard of ice. "Believe me… stories are the last thing I'll ever run out of…"

Everyone looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"Back home, we learn our _history_ through stories… through legends! There was even a special position one of the villagers or civilians back home, the Matoran, could hold that involved writing our history through legends and stories - the position of Chronicler. It's one of the most cherished responsibilities one could have. In my 9,512 years of living… I've known three Chroniclers quite well. It's impossible _not_ to learn the stories with friends like them…"

Several spit-takes were heard from around him, and he cracked open an eye to see Austin and Taylor staring at him in bewilderment, and several others trying to recover their breath.

"How old can your kind grow to _be_?" Taylor asked, amazed.

"Well, reaching the age of ten thousand is considered full maturity. A rare few have managed to reach fifty thousand." He yawned a bit and scratched at his nose. "I guess that my current age would be considered my kind's equivalent of 19 years of age… But, to be honest, most of us are just _created_. Not born. And when we are, we already have quite a bit of knowledge. I guess you could say we really just age mentally, and are given a head start. But most Toa, like I said, are _created_. It's rare for a Toa to just… start out as a Toa. When we're actually _born_ from two Toa parents, then we do, but we're much more like human infants are when born, and our first ten years are like a human's first ten. I know of _one_ Toa team that started off fully developed and in Toa form, but no others. Most Toa… myself included… start off as Matoran born or created and are later made into a Toa through some means."

The humans all blinked. "Wow…" Austin uttered. "You can remember all that… and more?"

He nodded. "Plenty more."

Simon leaned forward in interest. "Well, we're short one of your 'Chroniclers', so why don't you tell us these stories you so proudly know?"

His other eye slid open and he looked around with a quirked brow. "You're sure you want to hear it? Keep in mind, I'm recounting _millions_ of years of stories… I highly doubt that we'll even have time for them all before the week is up."

There were exclamations of certainty from all around.

He sat up and leaned forward, the firelight bringing his mask into sharp, eerie contrast. "If you say so… for the sake of being understandable, I'll start from what I know of the beginning."

"It all started long ago, on what is now my home planet, Spherus Magna. The planet had maintained peace at the time… A group that was known as the Great Beings were currently the rulers of a species known as Agori, operating out of a great, winding valley known fittingly as the Valley of the Maze."

"A being far older than they, one known as Annona, had been watching them ever since their rise to power. She was suspicious, believing them to be a threat. After some time, she used her considerable powers, to the best of her ability, to drive this unforeseen threat to madness, but failed terribly. Instead of going manic… the Great Beings drew immense inspiration from the event! Their abode in the Valley of the Maze became a thriving center of progress and creation, and, at that time, Annona was forced to flee underground."

His eyes brightened, aware that his audience was being drawn in to the story entirely. "For some time, only progress was seen. Exploration and innovation were everywhere. The Great Beings were even confident enough to create a giant prototype robot - and I _mean_ giant. It would put the tallest building on this planet to shame… it would fill an entire _sea_! But, alas, it was not to be. The power source proved to be too unstable, and it collapsed, its behemoth parts littering the desert known as the Great Barren."

"Annona, it seemed, took this as her cue to cause further strife. She began feeding on the dreams of the Iron Tribe, until they lost the ability to dream in its entirety, and were driven mad. The tribe's leader was desperate and pleaded for assistance, but none were willing to provide such. Instead, the survivors were ostracized despite all of their pleas and efforts."

"The Great Beings quickly noticed the terrible strife, and in an effort to aid in governing the civilizations of Spherus Magna, they endowed six warriors with elemental powers, and named them Elemental Lords. They soon took control of the various tribes of the planet. They became starved for power, however, and began forcing a substance known as energized protodermis out of the planet's core, and began turning into the source of many a dispute, and, eventually, a war as the Lord whose tribe discovered it tried to hoard it for himself - the _Core War_. It lasts for a few thousand years."

"During this time, the Great Beings realized that the Agori had become corrupt. They began forming a second robotic body, and an entirely different universe within it, complete with a new race of beings within it - the Matoran. A single Great Being stayed within the robot, to oversee the new universe's beginning. The new entity made to live _as _the robot was known as Mata Nui, the Great Spirit, and once all necessary were within, he left the planet, leaving it to shatter and die as the draining of its core made it structurally unstable."

He looked around at the many humans on the edges of their proverbial seats, an eyebrow quirked once more. "Should I… stop for now?"

Several indignant outcries gave him his answer.

"All right then…" he said. "If you insist!"

He cleared his throat and continued on. "The first Av-Matoran, or Matoran of the Light element, was created by the Great Beings as they strove to perfect the design of the Matoran. The many islands that the Matoran were to inhabit were made, and the Matoran themselves were set to work constructing them further. The very first island, Metru Nui, was quickly founded and constructed. A being known as Tren Krom and a well-known Red Star were created to further power the universe in its entirety…."

As the story continued, many of the listeners began finally succumbing to sleep, but the story that reached their resting ears took residence in their dreams… until Matoro, too, let his own dreams carry him into silence.

_The ranch was closer. Fire danced against the sky._


	9. Chapter 9: Packing Up

Chapter 9: Packing Up

Monday and Tuesday had come and gone. Both days had been as amazing as Sunday - fun games followed by flawless victory in the Fun Sports, and ended off with stories at the bonfire. Wednesday, so far, seemed to be no different, as far as Austin and Taylor could see.

They cheered from their seats as Matoro and Snowplow once again took the lead in the race, the duo tearing up the track as they left the still-present Sunhigh competitor, Coleman Smith, in the dust. There hadn't been any hope for the haughty, sharp-dressed rider since his first shortcoming in Sunday's race. And now, even Sampson and Orion were passing them, earning second behind the Thistle family's own shining stars.

But Sunhigh was apparently bound and determined to interrupt all peace.

As the two humans hurried to congratulate Matoro and Snowplow on another well-earned victory, they stopped short at the sight of an all-too-familiar figure standing by the exit of the track. A rather tall, lean, scarred figure… Parcival Strick, Snowplow's former trainer.

As if proud of being the subject of the father and daughter's scrutiny, the well-dressed European man turned to face them, his primly tucked and ironed coat seeming to take part in his scowl. "Ah, _Austin_… just the man I was looking for…"

"What do you _want_, Parcival?!" Austin hissed.

"I wish to discuss that… _horse_ you have decided to bring with you. What price are you asking for the untrainable cretin?" As the man spoke, his eyes flitted sideways to rest on a certain duo making their way across the racetrack.

"_Untrainable cre-_ I'm sorry, but did you _not_ just see the race? Or were you too busy giving another one of your horses PTSD from its painful training?" Austin growled. "I don't consider myself the owner of Snowplow any longer, but I can speak for the _new_ and _true_ one when I say that Snowplow is _NOT_ for sale."

"But, if you _aren't_ the owner of _that_ horse…." Parcival drawled, "who is…?"

"Look for yourself at who's able to _ride_ him."

"What…?!" His eyes at last seemed to truly focus on the small ranch's representatives, and he turned quite pale, staggering backward. "What in the blazing _hell_ is that abomination, that… that… metal demon!?"

"Not a demon… an alien." Austin corrected him. "And a _great_ friend of ours already."

"Well, then…" Parcival sneered. "It doesn't surprise me that you feel happiest mingling with more foul creatures so like yourselves… Goodbye, then, and _good __**riddance**_!" He turned sharply on his heel and marched angrily off.

••••••••

The Thistles had hoped that their encounter with Parcival would be their only run-in with Sunhigh for a good, long while. However, the "while" decided not to be so good and long. It was Saturday, the last full day they would be at the Roundup. Matoro and Snowplow had just finished their last race, and were waiting by the track exit for Austin and Taylor when a chokingly strong smell of cinnamon wafted over them from behind.

"Ahem…"

Matoro turned to look behind them, and there stood a middle-aged British woman who was _far_ too lavishly dressed. Her garment was long and large, and its many layers of skirt dragged heavily over the ground despite her efforts to lift them. She held a paper fan in one hand which she waved franticly to beat the heat, and an expensive hat adorned her head, its brim reaching about as far out as the skirts of her dress. She was looking up at Matoro questioningly. "Aren't you the _strapping_ young lad who's won the race every day this week?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _young_… considering I'm 9,512 years old. But yes, I am the guy who's won every day. Can I help you…?"

"Ah, right to the point, I see! Well, my name is Brunwella Solpor, and I happen to be the founder and owner of Sunhigh Stables," she began, failing to notice his sudden change in expression as the name of his current enemy met his ears. "Lately, our representative horsemen have been a bit… well… _lacking_. A successful champion such as yourself is _exactly_ what we need to get ourselves back on track. I'm willing to pay you fifty dollars for every competition you and your… _horse_ are entered in, though I ask to keep half of any winnings you receive. What do you say?"

His gaze hardened like arctic ice, and he replied, "Not on my life!"

"Oh, come now, you have to think rationally about this. Surely _you, _of all people, would see the logic in such an act! You won't find better pay for your work anywhere!"

But, the next instant, she was forced into silence by his despising glare, which sent an electric jolt down her spine. Slowly and curtly, as if thinking her mentally challenged and unable to understand him otherwise, he growled, "I have _no need_ of _money_. My only need right now is to be _far_ away from the likes of _you_!" With that, he pressed Snowplow into a swift gallop and about-faced, making sure that plenty of dirt was kicked backwards at the woman behind them, and headed off to where Austin and Taylor were approaching.

Brunwella watched them go with an air of disdain as Parcival walked over to stand beside her. Turning to him, she remarked, "No question about it, now. It's time for them to take a fall…"

"Indeed…"

••••••••

The next day, they were busy in the early morning packing up. But something was bothering Matoro. The whole day, he'd felt a prickle at the back of his neck, as if he were being watched. Snowplow, Ironsides, and Maple had been acting skittish, too.

The Toa let his eyes flit about as he began loading their supplies into the trucks and packing away the gold horseshoes and dreamcatcher he had to remember the Roundup by alongside his helmet and goggles. Most of the crowd seemed to be absorbed in the hustle and bustle of packing, much as he and the Thistle family were. But he was an ice Toa, quick to perceive and analyze. The crowds, to him, became no more than tall grass dancing in the wind. He knew to look _through_ the grass… but when he did, what he saw was rather… unnerving.

A single person - a middle-aged man - was standing stock still, watching Matoro and Snowplow. He was dressed, suspiciously, in several pieces of dark clothing that were completely unfitting with the hot, almost muggy weather. A muffler covered the bottom half of his face, so only his eyes were viewable - and even then, barely so.

Matoro continued to stare right back for a minute or so… but then he blinked, and the man was gone. _Well, that was… odd._

He turned back to grab a hold of Snowplow's lead rope, and gently began guiding him into the trailer. But just after he and Austin had closed the doors, he turned, and the strange man was there again, staring through the crowds. And, on top of that, he was even closer than before.

_What's __**with**__ this guy?_

The Toa sent his watcher a questioning look, but went ahead and made his way to the passenger side of the truck and hopped inside, buckling up quickly so that they could head home. The whole drive back, questions plagued his mind.

••••••••

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

The next day, life on the ranch had reassumed its normality, and Matoro intended to actually get something _done_. Thus, Taylor found herself watching as he pulled out a small stepladder and began doing his best to hammer the golden horseshoes he'd won onto the beam forming the top of Snowplow's stall doorway.

"Any particular reason why you're doing this?" she asked, handing him the next one.

"Well, I kinda got tired of not really doing anything productive, and I didn't really have anywhere else to put them. What better a place than this, where people visiting can see, quite clearly, that Snowplow's a champ?" Matoro replied. Snowplow, who had been leaning his head out of the stall below and craning his neck to see what his friend was doing, whinnied in agreement as Austin walked in.

"Hey, Austin, did you happen t- **OW!**" That had been Matoro again, but in talking to Austin, he had distracted himself enough to hit himself on the thumb with the hammer.

"You okay there, pal?" the man asked the Toa in concern, quirking a brow.

"Yeah, I'm fine…" was the reply, as he checked his thumb over and deemed it unharmed. "But, as I was going to say, did you happen to check for any small job openings I might be able to take?"

"Sure did, but none were there. However, I also put that flyer up on the bulletin board in the park nearby. Someone might call." Austin admitted.

As if on cue, Austin's phone chose that moment to ring, and he excused himself to go answer it.

"Wait, you're trying to find a small job? Why?" Taylor asked.

"Like I said earlier, I'm tired of not really doing anything productive. And the two of you have done so much for me, I kinda feel guilty for never paying you back. I want to be able to help out around here in more ways, not be a burden. On top of that, helping others out will gain me more respect in the community. It's important that I leave a good impression!" Matoro replied, stepping down off of the stepladder to view his handiwork. It had turned out well!

Austin abruptly came back into the barn, having finished the phone conversation. "Matoro, do you remember Simon Hawthorne from the Roundup?"

"Of course I do. Why do you ask?"

"He just called," Austin explained. "He's got a job he's willing to hire you for. He's been rather busy lately and often forgets to run his errands in town. So, he's hoping to hire someone to run them for him, at twenty bucks per errand. Sound good?"

"Definitely!" Matoro exclaimed. "Should I meet him sometime to discuss it?"

"He suggested today at three. I'll write down his address for ya."

The trio then headed in for lunch, chatting amicably. None of them noticed the figure watching from the tall grass…

••••••••

_**Knock knock knock**_…

Simon was quick to answer the door. "Ah, Matoro! I was kinda worried you wouldn't take the job!"

"Hey, a friend in need is a friend indeed. I _couldn't_ say no! So, what're you planning to have me do?" Matoro asked, following him into the house.

"Nothing today, but when you do get started, I might have you pick up orders from the grocery store or from the tailor-shop. I seem to run out of horse feed and undamaged tack _way _too quickly…" he replied. "That sound okay? It'll also give Snowplow plenty of exercise."

"Sure! Should I start tomorrow?"

"I don't see why not."

••••••••

_The smoke was nearly choking him…_

**A/N: Everyone! GREAT NEWS! I've written out an outline for this story's full plot, to act as a bit of a rough draft so I'm not just grasping at straws for what we can have happen in the story! And I've even begun an outline for a sequel! A SEQUEL! Read and review, please!**


	10. Chapter 10: The Run of the Paddock

Chapter 10: The Run of the Paddock

Matoro was quick to begin doing his job the next day, By noon he was on Snowplow's back as they trotted along to the main part of town, observing his surroundings in interest. Today he had two errands: he needed to pick up a bakery order Simon had placed, and he needed to go to the tailor-shop to have a bridle and a saddle rug be repaired.

As he passed by the school, he noticed that all of the children seemed to be out for their lunch recess in the playground and field. When they saw him and Snowplow, several of them came running over in excitement. He slowed their pace to a walk, not wanting one of the kids to trip while following them from the other side of the fence.

"Hey," one of the school kids piped up, "I remember you from the Roundup races!"

"Yeah, you're the guy who always won!"

"You were like a silver bullet!"

Matoro laughed. "I wouldn't say _I_ was the bullet…"

"What do you mean?"

"Yeah! You were the fastest guy there!"

"You were nothing but a blur!"

He chuckled again, and patted Snowplow's neck. "The real silver bullet was _this_ guy. I was just along for the ride and to keep him on the track!" He winked at the children. "Now, you bunch focus on your studies. I don't want my appearance to be distracting you all throughout the day. Besides, I've got stuff I need to do. See you later!"

The kids' goodbyes echoed behind them as they continued on their way.

A few blocks later, they came across a couple of teenagers riding skateboards in an empty lot. Upon seeing the duo, the teens stopped what they were doing - he noticed that one of them had an odd, silver, square-shaped camera fastened to his head - and simply stared at them as they passed. "Good afternoon," he offered politely, not wanting to act like they weren't there. Behind them, he heard the two speaking excitedly about what they'd just seen.

The baker, a roly-poly man with a bald head and seemingly endless smile, greeted Matoro happily as he entered the establishment. "Hey-HEY! _Here's_ the man who left Sunhigh in the dust! How can I help ya, laddie?"

"Simon sent me to pick up his order he placed yesterday. How have things been going?"

"Good as gold! OH! Speaking of which…" The man vanished behind the counter then popped back into view after a few seconds. "Got a few things other than Simon's order fer ya!" Two large wax-paper cookie-holding-bags were passed over the counter along with the order he'd been sent to retrieve. Peering inside, Matoro saw a large - as big around as a small dinner plate - vanilla cookie with bits of peppermint and white chocolate in it and a golden horseshoe frosted onto one side in the first bag. The second held several whole peppermint sticks. "Set these aside for you and your pal waitin' out there! Enjoy, my friend, and happy trails!"

"Thanks!"

The owner of his second stop, the tailor, was equally happy to see him doing well. "My stars! You really are determined to be a jack-of-all-trades, aren't you, you rascal?" he asked, smiling in goodwill. "What's Simon sent you for?"

"One of his bridles needs a new buckle, and a hole was torn in one of the saddle rugs." the Toa replied, handing over the damaged items. "Business going well for you?"

"It's going _very_ well! In fact, my wife and I designed something we wanted you to have." He passed a good-sized sew-on patch over the counter and into the hands of the off-worlder. It was quite well-designed. Two thistles crossed stem-ends at the bottom, then continued upward and to each side, curving inwards just below the bud. They flanked a golden horseshoe that actually gleamed in the tailor-shop's lights. In the center, its points slightly overlapping the horseshoe, was a bright blue snowflake. And, at the top, there was a silver storm cloud, sending two white bolts of lightning streaked with yellow-green to the bottom-right and bottom-left. "Thought it quite a good symbol for the two of you."

"Wow… this looks amazing!" Matoro replied. "And… you made this just for Snowplow and me?"

"Sure did! And if you ever have the time later, just stop on by and I'll sew it onto his stable blanket for free."

Almost as soon as the shop owner turned to begin working on the asked-for repairs, though, a scream rang out. "THIEF! ROBBER!" And, immediately after, a blurred figure was sprinting past the view of the front doors.

Matoro didn't have to think twice. He had seen the thief's only gun, a small pistol, clatter to the ground in passing. The next moment, he was in pursuit.

It just so happened to be an early-out day for summer school, and both runners found themselves confronted with sidewalks crowded with children of varying ages on their way home or waiting for parents to pick them up. The thief, quite rudely, plowed through the youngsters, knocking them down or shoving them aside. But Matoro had no need to. As if he were in a minefield. he maneuvered his way quickly and easily through the startled, and sometimes even injured, kids, gaining on the robber bit by bit.

The robber finally gathered the courage to look back, and in the same moment terror entered the man's expression, Matoro covered the sidewalk before him with ice. Instantaneously, the chase was over; the thief's footing left him to fall onto his face, giving his pursuer ample opportunity to pin him to the ground, freeze his arms together behind his back, and remove all ice from the ground and the stolen handbag from the guilty grip. With that done, he hoisted the crook to his feet and began steering him back to his victim.

When he got back to the area in front of the tailor-shop, he was surprised to see quite the gathering already there - as _they_ were to see _him_. A bus was parked outside that he hadn't noticed parked there when he and Snowplow first arrived, and the logo on its side mentioned "tourism". Many of the people around it smelled heavily of sunscreen. Two policemen were engaged in conversation with a woman who seemed to be one of the bus' passengers, and was rather distraught. More people _still_ were gathering around, drawn to the scene by the shouting and noise.

Finally noticing the policemen's diverted attention, the woman followed their gazes to Matoro and seemed just as surprised as everyone else. Some of the people around the bus were murmuring in shock, lifting cameras and phones to capture photo and video. He brought the thief forward and stated, "I believe this is the crook you're trying to find." The police nodded, putting a pair of metal handcuffs over the man's frozen wrists, and began forcing him into their squad car after the purse was returned to its distraught owner.

Just then, one of the sunscreen-free bystanders stepped forward and, clearing her throat, spoke up. "Excuse me… but… might I be able to… interview you?"

He cast her a curious look. "Interview?"

"Yes, interview. You see, I happen to be a national news reporter for NBC, the television channel," she explained, "and, to be honest, I'm pretty certain you're worthy of a national broadcast. It'd be a story like none other."

Matoro wasn't too sure what to think. "I… suppose. I don't want any intrusion of the privacy of those I live with, though…"

"I promise there won't be. We'll simply call, and if it isn't a good time, we'll agree on a different time to schedule the interview. Where _do_ you live, though?"

"Not far from here," he admitted. "Thistle Horse Ranch."

"Ah, I see… and your name would be…?"

"Matoro."

••••••••

It took a good amount of time for Matoro to finally finish all of the errands, check in with Simon, and head back home. And when he finally did, Austin and Taylor were waiting out front, looking a bit worried at how long he took.

"Where've you been all this time, pal?" the former of the two asked in concern.

"I… chased down a robber…"

"You WHAT?!" Taylor exclaimed, gaping at him. "We didn't hear about any robbery happening. When…?"

"It wasn't too long ago… it happened outside the bakery and the tailor-shop. Some hotshot decided to snag a tourist's purse, and happened to drop his gun by accident, so I decided I might as well chase him down. He sure injured a bunch of school kids in his haste, though…" Here, the Toa suddenly remembered something. "Oh, and, uh… a reporter there said she wanted to call to schedule an interview… but if she calls at a bad time, she's promised to reschedule for a time when we're not busy."

"All right. As long as you came out no worse for wear, I don't see any problems. Now, you go on and get Snowplow groomed up. He seems a bit tired." Austin relented.

"I'll be sure to."


End file.
